Television Graveyard

It’s funny how random thoughts pop into my head sometimes.

I know that I’ve mentioned reality TV’s supply and demand  on here a time or two before. We en masse have a tendency to look for the things that are entertaining (ie drama, madness and mayhem), and, thus far, reality TV has provided that in spades. It is the same reason that we used to watch sitcoms back in the day – they provided us with entertainment value. The only difference is that actors and actresses are on sitcoms, while reality TV stars  are…well…not acting.

Not really, anyway. But moving on.

Last night, I was watching My Wife and Kids reruns on Nick at Nite, you all remember, the one with Damon Wayans and Tisha Campbell-Martin? I don’t really watch TV much, but I do enjoy me some Nick at Nite. As I was watching the show, somewhere in between Damon Wayans’ character making his usual fatherly cracks at his TV son, it dawned on me…

Do we even have any shows like this anymore?

What do I mean by shows like this? Okok. Let’s think about this for a second. In general, the television sitcom ruled our late 70’s and early 80’s existence. Sitcoms were in rare form at the time, and actors and actresses such as Carroll O’Connor, Bill Cosby, Redd Foxx, Meredith Baxter-Birney, Phylicia Rashad, and countless others kept us glued to the TV with their biases and their thoughts – in an entertaining yet enlightening way. Oh, sure, it wasn’t always roses on their shows…but there was always a lesson to learn and something positive to get out of it. Delving deeper into the heart of the matter, the 80’s dawned powerhouse shows for African Americans such as The Cosby Show, A Different World, and 227, all shows that talked about the struggles of everyday African Americans, and how they overcame such obstacles. And, of course, they made us laugh. (To this day, I will never ever hide a piercing from my parents thanks to Theo Huxtable. And I’m an adult with a child of my own. LOL.)

In watching “My Wife and Kids”, though, I realized that we don’t have any shows like this anymore, at all. Think about it. I did. I went through the commercials I’d seen (in my head). I went through my Twitter timeline. I even posed the question on my Facebook page and to my cousins, who I affectionately call “The View”. Wanna see some of the responses? Look below…

From FB:

“The Cosby show..... even tho that was.....quite a long time ago... “

“Actually, I'm gonna raise my hand and say 'Friends' - Aisha Tyler, a great comedienne, played a short role as Ross' girlfriend, a scientist who had won the Nobel Prize *twice*…”

From “The View” (my cousins):

“There are none-not one.”

“No. I cannot think of one.”

“The Oprah show.. Oprah herself portrays black women in a positive way ,intelligent  thought, imaginative. Behind the scenes at Oprah shows a brilliant black woman running Harpo.”

From Random Folk

“Damn…um…I dunno…wait, lemme think…”

“Define positive lololol…The last sitcom like reality show was runs house…That was positive…”

Are you sensing the pattern?

I’m a bit verklempt at this thought. No, seriously. In 2011…with an African American president…where one of the biggest media names in the business is an African American woman…why is it that the only television shows that we have on with a predominantly African American cast portray us as ghetto? Hood? Granted, my girl Carrie Pink pointed out that the VH1 reality show “Toya: A Family Affair” shows Antonia Carter, mother of Lil Wayne’s child, headed in a positive direction…and I’d be remiss if I didn’t point out that Chandra Wilson of ABC’s “Grey’s Anatomy” fame plays a no nonsense doctor on the hit series, written and produced by Shonda Rhimes, an African American woman…plus my other friend pointed out on FB that Blair Underwood plays the President of the United States on the NBC sitcom “The Event”.

But after those…then what?

I got an opportunity to go to the Celebrity Apprentice Live Finale this past weekend, and so I hobnobbed with the best while I watched all of the celebrities come back for the finale to talk about their experience. Of course, the most watched portion of the show was NeNe Leakes and Star Jones going back and forth…again. As much as what Nene said about Star was true, the point that Star valiantly tried to make was also true: Nene’s behavior bespoke of an inability to express herself in a professional manner without getting ghetto and trite, and it gave the impression that when backed into a corner, that’s all “we” do. Now, of course this isn’t true…and yes, much happens in the name of entertainment, but how can we prove it when that is our television ‘reality’?

I’m going to do a bit of research on this first, and come back with a part two, but for now, what do you think? Am I wrong?

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Fantasy vs. Reality

We are walking to the school, she in her Shearling jacket, me in my wool coat. She is bubbly, bright, excited. After school, we are going to do her homework together, then curl up and watch movies and sip hot cocoa. He will join us when he is done with his meeting, and we will sit there, watching movies until dinner time, when we will go to the dinner table and have dinner together as a family, before I give her a bath. She will tell me to “take it easy bending down, Mommy…you might hurt the baby…” She loves her little brother or sister, the one she’s always wanted…though we won’t know what it is until it is born. That night, I will tuck her in, after having tied her head and wrapped her up all tight so she is safe and warm. He will sneak in and kiss her good night all over her face, making her giggle. She loves him like he were her natural born father. He loves her like she was his natural born child. I kiss her good night as well, and we quietly sneak out the room as she begins to doze off. He will tell me to take my time down the stairs, his hand on my protruding belly, the skin around my ring beginning to swell from the water weight. I retreat to my home office, he to his, as he balances his books and I mine. I tune everything out and type and work to the beat of tiny baby flutters, flutters that I haven’t felt since 2002. The miracle of life. He stops me from working late with his kiss, gentle touches on the nape of my neck. He makes love to me slow and gentle, careful not to cause any undue movement to our unborn child. We doze off in each other’s arms afterward. In the morning, we wake up early and talk as we prepare to start our day in our life together – he, I, and mine.

I wake up in the morning, usually pretty tired. It’s more of a nap than actual sleep. I reluctantly drag myself out of the comfort of my nap and prepare to start my day. The munchkin hates waking up, too. Many mornings, I find that she has found her way back into my bed, her lanky limbs splayed across me, even after I have put her back into her bed earlier on in the night. Sometimes this causes us to fall behind five to ten minutes in our schedule – the comfort of the bed calls to us, even when the alarm has gone off twice. That five to ten minute lag, though, can be the difference between catching the bus and missing it. So we don’t let that happen very often. I bathe her, dry her off, and direct her toward her clothes, so that I can get myself showered and into my sweats. I will walk anywhere, so I use the time after I drop her off to power walk through half of my neighborhood. We grab breakfast-to-go…sometimes mini pancakes or French toast sticks, made in advance and in a Baggie, sometimes Fruity Cheerios in a portable cup. We head out the door at the exact same time every day: 7:02 am. Never earlier, never later. We spend our 20 minute walk singing and dancing down the block, sometimes pretending that we are fishing for baby sharks, sometimes talking about the munchkin’s baby years. She likes hearing about her life as a baby. Sometimes this brings up bittersweet memories of her godmother – my friend who passed – and sometimes, she needs a four block hug. I oblige her. I never let her see me sad, though it is moments like this when she breaks my heart. I get her on her bus in the morning and I kiss her good bye and she pulls off, waving to me as the bus turns the corner and takes her to school – and all I can think of is that is my baby, swallowed up on that big yellow bus. It hits me sometimes – someday, her world will not revolve around me. Someday, she will not want to talk to me about everything. Someday, some little boy will break her heart as mine has been before, and I will be powerless to do anything but hug her and tell her that someday, she will be grateful for this heartbreak, even as I myself am not so sure that I am okay with the tug of pain and melancholy that every now and again threatens to break my stride. As I have these moments, as I walk down the streets of my neighborhood, alone not just in name but in my thoughts as well, I ponder who I have to go over my feelings with, who I have to go back and forth with, who supports my dreams when I’m not sure I believe anymore…whose heartbeat will match mine whether we are in the same room or not. Sometimes, it’s okay to know that my day for that has come. Today is not one of those days. Today is one of those “have I made the right choices?” days, one of those days that everyone has but never likes to admit that they have: the day that they regret the life changing decision(s) that they made. The day that they wonder, “what if?” The day that you don’t feel like talking to anyone because it is not just anyone you want to talk to – it is that day that you don’t want to hear anything about things being okay or not coveting what you don’t have because you just feel in a negative space and you just want to let that rock for a minute, dammit. It is the day that I feel the most alone – the day that I envy everyone lucky enough to have what I wish I did – a partner.

This…is my fantasy versus my reality.

Eventually, I will feel better and the negative energy will subside…and I will keep moving…as I always do.

Today…is not that day. Probably tomorrow.

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