I received that beat-up clock when it was new back in the mid 1990s on a whirlwind trip that Lynne and I took to New Orleans. It was my first real visit to the city other than driving around and exploring it once late at night. The clock was part of a swag bag we received from VH-1, and it reminds me of my love/hate relationship with Nickelodeon since that’s the channel that addicted me to “Full House” reruns.
I wonder if other people are like me and have false memories of what they saw on TV as children. Many times I’ve said to people, “Oh, yeah, I watched that as a kid!” only to find out I was discussing a show that had aired and then ended years before I was even born. Plus my parents didn’t actually let us watch a lot of TV when we were kids except what we watched with them. So in truth, a lot of the shows I thought I watched when I was a wee lass were actually shows I saw as a teen when they went into syndication and I spent afternoons with friends whose parents either let them watch more TV than mine did or who had two parents who worked outside the home and didn’t know we were saturating our brains with three decades of sitcoms and cop shows. Or I watched them in the TV room at the student center when I was in college and graduate school in lieu of studying. My financial aid hard at work.
Usually when Tim’s dogs are in the apartment without him, he’ll leave the TV on for them. Today when I went over to let them out for recess, there was a show on his TV with lots of gunplay, so I changed the channel. It so happened that I landed on “The Waltons,” good wholesome viewing for three impressionable young dogs, I thought. When Tim arrived home, they were watching “The Brady Bunch.” I expect Penny will soon be looking at her big sister and whining, “Pixie, Pixie, Pixie!”
One of my standard questions of TV watchers of a certain age is, “Were you a fan of Samantha or Jeannie?” I always wanted to be a witch more than a genie, even if it meant being stuck with Darren. Because there was also Endora, Dr. Bombay, Serena, Gladys Kravitz (you can never say just her first name), and the fantastic Aunt Clara and Uncle Arthur.
The show “Bewitched” is used to good effect by the young narrator of Rob Williams’s story “Bothered, Bewildered.”
I was eleven when I told my ten-year-old neighbor that I was a witch. Or a warlock, I should say, since guys can’t be witches. Chalk it up to too many reruns of “Bewitched” on television. I told Jimmy I was friends with Samantha, Endora and Doctor Bombay.
“They’re just a TV show,” he said, squinting with skepticism, so that the tiny wrinkles around his eyes, not unusual for a California kid, deepened.
“Not those people,” I replied. “Those are actors, acting out the real witches’ lives. I’m talking about the real Samantha, the real Endora, the real Doctor Bombay.”
Jimmy had the whitest-blond hair of any kid I’d ever seen. In summer it turned green from all the chlorine in his family’s pool, where we would swim unsupervised for hours, sometimes even days. I told him that the green hair meant he had the potential to be a warlock, too. I would be like his Jedi Master, teaching him his craft.
How I proved to Jimmy that I was a warlock (the first time):
We were one of the first families on our block to get a Clapper—a device that turns a lamp on and off when you clap. It was plugged in behind the end table in our living room next to the couch my grandmother called the davenport. I showed the lamp trick to Jimmy. Clapped it on and off. His eyes grew wide, his mouth open, lips shiny with spit. I clapped it on and off again. Told him I would transfer my power to him so he could do it. He ate it up—clapping hesitantly at first. I was surprised it went on. Then he clapped harder. Clapped that lamp on and off, off and on, for twenty minutes. I thought his hands would fall off. We played Atari, and every couple of minutes he would clap the lamp on or off and smile that stupid smile. When he went to take a pee, I turned off the Clapper so it became just a regular lamp. Jimmy came back and tried to clap it on again. It didn’t turn on. He clapped again harder. He clapped close to the lamp, right above the lamp, below it; still nothing.
“Don’t abuse the power,” I said.
You can read the other ways Jimmy was bewitched in Foolish Hearts: New Gay Fiction, available now from booksellers everywhere in trade paper and ebook format.
Excerpt reprinted with permission from Cleis Press. All rights reserved.
I don’t think I’ve ever seen Bewitched. The Waltons – of course!
Good night, John Boy. =)
Witch here! Would hate living in a bottle. I’ve been rationing my stories one to a Metro trip around town. Currently enjoying ‘Nathan Burgoine’s STRUCK.
That’s such a fun story.
Bewitched, most definitely.
This was a cute story. I am three stories away from finishing the book. I loved it. I think “Aloha, Hello” is probably my favorite. However, “Nathan’s made me laugh, I related most to Greg’s and I loved that David brought back characters from his very first story. Picano’s and Tim’s were also very good.
So glad you’re enjoying the collection. I like how every story brings something different–in a wide range of emotions and experiences.