I won a skirmish with Cablevision last year by threatening to go over to the dark side, i.e. Verizon Fios, but my short-term victory ended a few days ago when I received a letter advising us that our one-year reprieve from the higher rate just wore off. I was about to rev up for another ultimatum when I turned on the TV today and noticed they’ve quietly given us access to a few channels we never had. As transparent an effort as this is on their part, it does appease my sense of consumer righteousness. For the moment.
The network I found early this morning as Husband slept and I read the Sunday paper was the Sundance Channel. And the face that looked out at me from the screen was that of Claire Danes in all her glorious teenage angst as Angela Chase in My So-Called Life. The sight of those expressive eyes and trademark red hair stopped me in my tracks. This show was, and still remains, the most realistic, telling and feeling show about adolescence the world of entertainment has ever produced. It ran one season, less than a year, for a total of 19 episodes. And then it was gone, leaving behind pain, wonder and indelible memory, just like adolescence itself.
What made it so special to me at the time was that there was another teenage girl in my life back in the nineties when My So-Called Life charted its short course to cultdom: Daughter, whose hair ran the gamut from blue to green to red to black and back again. And who let me into her life and thoughts as we leaned against each other on the couch watching Angela watch Jordan Catalano and deal with her friends, the rebellious Rayanne, lovesick Brian Krakow, and Rickie, the abused gay teen. This was no ABC Afterschool Special. It was life, so-called or otherwise.
As parents, we all relish the bonding times; the little league cheering and pizza afterwards, the prom dress shopping, the car drives where the rules of Vegas apply: What’s said in the car stays in the car. Then there are the other times, like while watching Angela’s friend Rayanne spiral out of control and overdose on who knows what, when a parent must decide how much about their own past to reveal by way of candor, education and understanding. How far to go to honestly bond without crossing the line into gonzo parenting. Did you smoke pot, Mom? What about acid? (help!) Wasn’t LSD popular back then? How much did you tell your parents? Muhammad Ali never had to think so fast on his feet.
The only jarring thing about watching My So-Called Life today was Angela’s mother, Patty. Eighteen years ago as we sat together on the couch, Daughter and I wholeheartedly agreed that Patty Chase was probably the most annoying woman on the planet. She was controlling, neurotic and filled with anxiety about the future. The year was 1995 and no one had yet heard the name Bin Laden or the words fiscal cliff. Maybe it’s me, but this morning Patty Chase seemed perfectly reasonable.
Daughter’s Featured Fotos come from FIGMENT and the Summer of 2012
blue ball
faces
climbing tree
trapped