Can you picture the Brady's living room in your mind? See Alice bustling around in her blue smock, holding a tray of ice tea (heavy on the sugar) for one of Carol Brady's Woman’s League meetings? Perhaps you have a favorite Brady, or you can quote lines verbatim?
“Marcia, Marcia, Marcia!”
Maybe you once imagined that you were one of the pretty girls at Marcia's slumber party, or that your baby doll's name was Kitty-Carry-All too?
The Brady clan is an anomaly. Cool enough to have updated spoof movies made, dorky enough to pretend you haven't seen every episode, and comfortable enough to be cozy and safe.
I've never spent a night tossing and turning wondering if Bobby was going to get over his fear of heights, or if Greg was ever going to find that perfect groovy girl. No way, those Bradys survive everything including high-school angst. They always meet their celebrity icons. Joe Namath doesn't just come to everyone's house, does he? Davy Jones, the teen dream of Miss Marcia, or a kiss from Desi Arnez Jr.!
“I'll never wash this cheek again.”
Marcia was certainly the lucky cheerleader of the family. The Marcia-Jan dilemma can't even be questioned. Surely the writers were playing favorites. Marcia got the good clothes, the good hair, and the good storylines. Jan got plots were she looked just like her homely aunt, horrid curly-cues, and glasses.
“Glasses! Oh, no, mom! They'll make me look absolutely positively goofy!”
Little Cindy just got to be cute with her pig tails and lispy quips.
“I'm not a snitcher; I just tell it like it is.”
Then there are the boys. We all remember Johnny Bravo, and Greg's move to the attic. Greg is the awkward guy who thinks he's cool.
“Hey there, groovy chicks. You're all hip in far out ways.”
I have always loved Peter. Peter is the “thinking” Brady. He's the friend you want by your side in a bad situation. He stood up to bullies.
Peter: “Let's reason about it.”
Buddy the Bully: “Shut up and fight!”
Peter: “Don't you want to talk about it?”
Bobby, was the funny guy, the stand up comic of the family. In any given situation Bobby almost always got the jokes.
Mike: "Jan's allergic to Tiger...and I'm afraid, boys, that they cannot live together in the same house."
Peter: "Aww Dad."
Greg: "That's terrible."
Bobby: "Where's Jan gonna live?"
Carol Brady, the ever doting wife and mother. Carol's hairstyles alone are episodes in themselves. Carol kept the plot rolling. She informed us viewers what was going on. Whether she was working alongside Alice in the kitchen or having a talk with her husband in his study, she always gave us the rundown.
“Tiger, Tiger? Whatever happened to that dog?”
Then there's Mike. Father and architect extraordinaire. Mike seemed like he could do everything except design some more bedrooms for all those kids. He was a wise wise man.
Greg: “Why didn't you stop me Dad?”
Mike: “Because I think you just proved you're smart enough to stop yourself.”
Then, of course, ever helpful Alice. I wonder how much they paid her? Hmmmm? Minimum wage? The lovable maid. Was Alice the maid? Housekeeper? Quick with a one-liner, willing to do laundry and cook for a family of eight and she still had time to date. I don't know how she did it.
“If there's anything I can't stand, it's a perfect kid. And six of 'em, yecch!”
There was once a time that I wanted to be a Brady or, at least, a friend of a Brady. Blended families are hard. Live-in help isn't cheap. We don't all go to bed in negligees with coiffed hair. Life is not the Brady Bunch, but it's fun to pretend that everything always works out in the end.
If there is something that I've learned from them over the years of watching, it's that you can't take yourself too seriously. Balls sometimes hurt noses, all kids are insecure, and meatloaf is its own food group.
Long live the Bradys!
Carol Brady, the ever doting wife and mother. Carol's hairstyles alone are episodes in themselves. Carol kept the plot rolling. She informed us viewers what was going on. Whether she was working alongside Alice in the kitchen or having a talk with her husband in his study, she always gave us the rundown.
“Tiger, Tiger? Whatever happened to that dog?”
Then there's Mike. Father and architect extraordinaire. Mike seemed like he could do everything except design some more bedrooms for all those kids. He was a wise wise man.
Greg: “Why didn't you stop me Dad?”
Mike: “Because I think you just proved you're smart enough to stop yourself.”
Then, of course, ever helpful Alice. I wonder how much they paid her? Hmmmm? Minimum wage? The lovable maid. Was Alice the maid? Housekeeper? Quick with a one-liner, willing to do laundry and cook for a family of eight and she still had time to date. I don't know how she did it.
“If there's anything I can't stand, it's a perfect kid. And six of 'em, yecch!”
There was once a time that I wanted to be a Brady or, at least, a friend of a Brady. Blended families are hard. Live-in help isn't cheap. We don't all go to bed in negligees with coiffed hair. Life is not the Brady Bunch, but it's fun to pretend that everything always works out in the end.
If there is something that I've learned from them over the years of watching, it's that you can't take yourself too seriously. Balls sometimes hurt noses, all kids are insecure, and meatloaf is its own food group.
Long live the Bradys!
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