The Introverted Parent Trap

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Scenes From An Early Morning School Drop-Off:

[Dark, greyed elevator...something of a quiet place to shut your eyes in for a few seconds.]

I hop—wait, I am merely sliding in —with my four-year old daughter gleefully jumping into it first with her eight-watts smile, disturbing the whole atmosphere without even saying anything. Morning person much? A man and two other women join us, hounding and blocking what I consider my free breathing space. Each of us moves to light up our destination digits, makes brief eye contact and zones out in our individual fortresses.

I pick the dark corner that also lets out a secret vent for my benefit. Saanvi continues to intrusively study everyone, keeping her wide-eyed smile. Of course, she can't stand still even for ten seconds. She notices something and yells at me from another corner, pointing crudely at the only man in the elevator.

 "Mom! Mom! Look at him. He is wearing dad's t-shirt."

Of course, that remark is open to wide interpretations and I'm mortified. But I've learned the hard way that whatever I do in a desperate attempt to salvage is only going to backfire. So I just give her a half-smile and avoid eye-contact in general. I'm counting in my head to get the fuck out of everyone's hair when comes another uninvited remark.

"Uncle, can you give it back? Papa really likes that t-shirt."

Obviously, now I have to dive in head first with apologetic giggles that only get drowned in the roaring laughter coming from the seemingly-polite ladies in the elevator.

Kids say the ballsiest things, don't they? That's cool.

Mostly, they say things that overwhelm you and outnumber you in rapid sentences. And that's OK too I guess.

But if you're an introvert like me, it can get exhausting.

Last year, we went on a holiday to Bintan. Saanvi had just turned three that year. It was her birthday. We had a quiet dinner at an Indian restaurant so she could have her lunch staples—roti and bhindi—as opposed to Ramen and pizza. She picked the table next to a sweet Indian couple. The entire time we were there, our tables were shuffled incredibly close together with her chair facing the Indian couple. I felt sorry for them 'cos they seemed to be newly married. My husband took a picture of us from that day. The couple was downright jubilant to be in our company. Saanvi was in mid-sentence. And me - well, I had this sheepish, awkward smile.

Like I wanted to get out of there as fast I possibly can.

And that is definitive of how I feel when we're out as an introverted mom and extroverted daughter duo. 'Cos here's the thing about being an introvert. You want to be able to control the volume of conversations. So, when I'm talking to people, one-on-ones with people I know are ideal.  Group-conversations are next best cos you get to catch your breaths a lot. Of course, I love my friends! I'd meet them with their kids too, sometimes craving for a cup of coffee with them in the middle of the night, imagining the kids all tucked in with a nice classic, say Wizard of Oz, while we sit outside and indulge in some petty, slanderous gossip about everyone we know.

But the perennial introverted parent trap arises in one form or the other. Like in the following situations:

• When you're amidst strangers in a long journey and you're forced to engage in conversations 'cos your chatty daughter won't have it any other way. And she won't even nap cos that'll get in the way of discovering new people. (New people are over-hyped.)
• When you're in the company of society park moms who're engaging in long conversations with your daughter asking her interesting open-ended questions. And you kind of feel obligated to do the same with their kids.
• When you've had a long, tiring day of relentless conversations with your little jabberer and you're ready to call it a night. And your daughter asks you to cook up a fairy tale from your imagination and narrate it to her. One that does not end with, "And she was tired, miserable and sleepy ever after."

I know what you may be thinking. Am I even remotely implying that my energetic daughter is making me miserable? So what if she talks a lot?

Don't get me wrong. I'm thankful each day for having a little ray of happy, bouncing sunshine in my life. And she's a good conversationalist. Not kidding. She talks like a grown-up. She'll talk about anything from fun science facts to philosophy, sometimes she'll just make up her own trivia for the sake of conversation fillers.

But for me, in order to be a functional mother, who listens to her and  nurtures her with the same sort of love and energy every day, I have some alone-time mandates. Maybe, it is a little selfish. But my me-time refuels me, sometimes more than a good night's sleep, more than my other basic necessities in life.

And that's when I knew what I need to do in order to survive motherhood. So that I can over-indulge myself in uninvited conversations. So that I can make it through birthday parties without feeling like a deflated party balloon. So that I don't go looking for a spiritual connect before letting another person into my space. So that I can flit from one group to another without having to feel like an alien. Which is the hardest part for an introvert by the way. When we find a comfortable space, we cling to it with all our might. So chances are, even when I'm out on a social spree, you'll always find me with the one person I started my first cocktail with. That is if said-person hasn't abandoned me. (I do have social abandonment issues.)

So here are some everyday guidelines I've laid down for myself:

1. Tuning out from the world completely: Alone-time is not hard to come by since we're a nuclear family. So, I put my phone on silent, sit with a book/writing pad /mindless television, whatever the need of the hour and stay put for as long as it takes to feel rejuvenated.

2. Starting my day ten minutes earlier than everyone: Sometimes, all it takes is five deep breaths,  a dose of morning fresh air and quiet to get me up and about.  The realization that the world hasn't started needing you yet  is divine energy.

3. Having a job that doesn't necessitate face-time: Because honestly, what good can come of a room full of people trying to fill up air with their own stuck-up ideas and making themselves look important? Fine, maybe greater good that can potentially change governments. But fortunately for me, I'm still trying to get all the way back to jump-starting my career and I realize that with my skills, I could potentially even work from a remote island. As long as it has WI-Fi.

4. Music: Big part of my survival kit. I can absolutely not do any sort of physical activity without my playlist. It is therapeutic. Irrespective of whether you're an introvert or extrovert, it's important to have at least one thing in your life that is meant just for your personal pleasure. My playlist is one of them.

5. Letting it go: You may try to mingle more and be more receptive to others and put yourself out there more often. But you can't change who you are. I try to accept that and not beat myself about it. I fail miserably but I try again.

Of course, it fills me with an inexplicable envy when I see bright, cheerful moms who can fill the room with their positive vibes and radiant energy. But I've come to healthy terms with the fact that I'm just not one of them. I'm happy to spend my alone-time refuelling for random play-dates and spontaneous social events that tend to drain the life out of me.

As long as I'm there in body and spirit, I'm enough.

That Odd Thing Called Life...And the Circle of It

I look at the mirror and throw a question, "Yo, do I look fat?" But I have no time to wait for the answer as I'm shoved away by the more persistent tugs of my two-year old. 

So as it goes, I've been dwelling on a subject that seems infinitely important and yet so fleeting and changeable that sometimes it feels like it holds no weight at all. Well, I guess it all began when I headed home to reunite with almost all of my family, with the exception of my little brother. Meeting my sister, Meeta didi, is kind of a big deal as it's not often that we get to see her and this incredible woman, a constant source of fun, love and discipline, practically raised me, so it's natural her visits bring with her a lot of sweet and stirring nostalgia.

She took the mother-figure spot for me when my mom passed away. I don't know why it is so but with each passing year, my mother, whom I love, whose voice I vividly recall when she reprimanded me, in whose embrace I found all the gleaning comfort that rumbled through my entire existence, continues to slip away from me into the shadows from where I can only hear the hum of her soothing voice, watch her silhouette at a distance working in the kitchen, and feel the rustling of her sari brush past me. But I can't place her face, well I can only reproduce her face in the pictures that we have, and I constantly struggle to put myself in her shoes, as she remains somewhat of a mystery to me. That, perhaps is the most regrettable thing of a parent who was always there for me and it fills me with grief that I've lost those pieces, and they've become irrevocable forever, not even in memories.

But Meeta didi... Her I know. Well, at least I know she's capable of looking all cool and dignified when serving you a meal but also snatch your plate away if a gagged compliment doesn't follow between the next two mouthfuls. I know that she was the only one in the family who could chastise me into behaving like a girl...'cos oh....I was a testy kid. (I mean I remember me and even I wouldn't mess with me, if you get what I mean.) I know that she, till date, lights up the moment any solemn dinner conversation takes an unlikely diversion into some form of sleazy gossip and she'll appreciate and nudge you to go on... in all the right intervals. I know for a fact that she was a die-hard fan of Nagarjuna ( a famous South-Indian actor if you're wondering who he is), cos he epitomized the tall, dark and moustached, manly men genre that her generation of girls was so obsessed with. And I know that she's the most doting, most loving mommy figure there is and even in the reign of gritting anger, she can coolly steer you out of your peak tantrum (and if that doesn't work, then God help you).

Me with my older siblings

The thing is I have always looked up at my sister more as a mommy-figure than anybody else.

So it came to me as a surprise when our relationship took an unprecedented turn. You see, up until I became a parent, my sister's life, to me, was very different from mine and a bit strange, so to speak. She was the one who woke up early to finish all her household chores, cook lunch, dress up her kids and feed them the most nutritious option of breakfast that is fathomable at 7 am; while I stayed under covers until the guilt of sleeping became overwhelming. (Well, to be honest, there are not many changes in that department as Peaches is still to start school.) The point is I've seen her fussing over her kids 24/7, chalking out their routine, being the world's fastest Indian to take a shower, even then to be interrupted by a loud whack on the door with a louder yell that goes, "Maaa!!!"; while I allowed myself a luxuriant shower with bonus time to recuperate from the horror of her disturbingly short one.

Meeta didi with her twins - Saarth and Riya

 But her chores went on...rationing out TV time for her kids, screening what they read, feeding them what they demand and probably even going to the extent of programming her sleep to be light so that she can be at her children's every beck and call. I watched her and thought to myself, "Good God, why is she doing that to herself?" "Why can't she take a chill pill?" (I know that phrase's so 90's but I'm bringing it back.) From where I saw, as a cool aunt who thought she'd be a totally easy-going parent and feed her kids dollops of ice-cream every time they were feeling out of sorts, my sister was going way too overboard.

 

Me - The Cool Aunt

But one fine day, I became a mommy and that didn't only mean stretching my lady parts beyond imagination to let out a brand new life but also going through the unspoken rite of passage from being a carefree girl to a kinda-responsible adult.... which has gradually unravelled the mystery of her life for me. Now I know why she takes charge of things the way she does. I understand why she would wait patiently to eat her favourite food at leisure and even then drop it half-appreciated to appease a ridiculously heated argument between her twins over whose turn it is to sleep on the right half of the bed. No matter how much she does for her kids, there'll always be something she thinks is missing, and even when it's way past her bedtime, and the dawn of the morning will come early and will bring with itself new challenges, she won't sleep until her kids are tucked in their beds and safely lodged in their serene slumber-land.

Me - The Mommy

Strangely, this visit of hers wasn't so much about catching up with each other or bridging the gap between the ups and downs and the mundane bits of our lives. Frankly, it wasn't the perfect family vacation. We whined about the weather that ruined all our outdoor plans, we took turns to fall sick and were completely sleep-deprived the entire week (as there was only one right side of the bed.) 

Yet we bonded, like we're finally in the same sorority or something. We were able to relate to each other as parents, as women, and as individuals.     

All of my family - except my lil brother

Mostly, it was because of our kids.

Of course, I am nothing like my sister. I am still clutching pretty hard to my old self and which is why sometimes my priorities get mixed up. Blow-drying my bangs, one time, came before scurrying off to change Peaches' wet pants, made so by her intentionally pouring water all over them. Well, later I felt terribly guilty about it. And every now and then, I let my daughter trash my living room, continue doing whatever I'm doing and ignore the mess until I trip over something, which is when I grit my teeth and really take stock of the disaster. Cleaning the house still finds itself in the bottom half of my priority list.

So yes, I'm not a model-parent like my sister. In fact, I'm still a parent-in-progress psychologically and I still have a long way to go, but every now and then I have a test-run into being a responsible grown-up, to which I respond fairly well.  And if I have trouble, I have other grown-ups - my husband and my selflessly loving in-laws and dad to put things in perspective for me.

But what marks this encounter with my sister as strange is that in a span of two years, I can feel the mommy-figure in her slowly fading, only to be replaced by a close friend, to whom I can relate in more ways than I ever thought. Despite the fact that not so long ago, I watched her and I was almost certain that I'm not going to turn into a paranoid and strict parent like her...or my dad for that matter. And yet here I am, shaking my finger violently at my two-year old, threatening her to let go of my cellphone, bribing her to perform on stage, telling her when to sleep, when to eat, and when to play.

I've often wondered, while ambling through life, when is it that we actually cross the threshold from being an adolescent to an adult; when is it that we turn into our parents? 

So this is it then. This is when I become an adult-in-charge. Just like that.

And just the other day, while I'm sitting by myself, quietly mourning the loss of the "20-something, clueless" me and trying to embrace the "I got it all figured out" 30s, my niece walks out of the bathroom, wearing the dress we bought for her, looking stunningly gorgeous and beaming at me with pride. She goes in front of the mirror and a shadow of doubt looms over her confident expression. She takes her sweet time to study herself carefully from every angle, gives me a sideways glance and goes on to ask me this.

"Maasi, do I look fat?"

And then suddenly her face changes and she's staring at me, looking utterly confused.

For I can't help laughing. Laughing hard...

An Ode to Being Desi...Sorta

I grew up in Africa, spent about seven years of my school life there - two very different schools, one of them being an ever-so-catholic girls convent. They did have an insignificant boy population too, featuring my little brother. Schooling in Uganda was a lot of fun....initially, though, I had a lot of dull and terrifying days and I'd ache to come back to India, the makings of earliest definition that I formed in my mind of patriotism. My brother and I were Indians in a 96% African-populated school and day-scholars in a boarding school. Naturally, to them, we were freaks. But then like every kid,  I found my share of friends and instead of being the butt of their jokes, most of it being around the sing-song Indian accent routine, I found myself laughing with them... at new kids, at teachers, at bed wetters - It was a boarding school and nearly every morning, we would hear a loud announcement from the adjoining 2nd grade classroom , "All bed wetters are required to go clean their sheets!" And of course, we would all peep to witness the hall of shame scramming as quickly as their little feet will take them.

Anyway, the good news was that in a school where even the length of your skirt could come with a lot of labels, the girls were beginning to warm up to me.

Mostly cos I had hair longer than an inch, and their idea of wild, youthful experimentation was limited to trying out a catalog of hairstyles on my then-gorgeous, longish hair. Everyday, they would just emerge out of nowhere in a pack and just straight away get to work. (They were awful at small talk, I suppose.) And each day, I sported a new, weird-looking plait home, which is when I discovered what most of my scalp really looks like.

So, I did the dance from primary to secondary school and got along with all the other sheep in the herd just fine, carefully treading along the line between being like them and being me. But every now and then, I would be singled out and thrown out of the herd, with "You Indians" or "You muindi", why do you talk like you're singing, or why do you shake your head like that or why is your food so spicy or why would you come to our country...the usual stereotyping jazz. I felt like a wounded soldier at a battle for my country's honour. But I would just timidly shrug them away or say something meaningless, like, "Hey, I don't sound like that."

In the back of my head, it bothered me.

Being an Indian in a foreign country as a school kid makes life complicated. It just does. But frankly, at times in school, when we were singled out, I was a far cry away from feeling traumatized. On the contrary, I felt happy to be Indian,  perfectly at home with my roots, my chest swelling with pride for my desi-ness. (On closer examination, I had struck puberty.)

However, it got me wondering what it really means to be Indian.

I now digress from the mushy, desh-premi angle that this post is tending towards. Instead, I offer a list of quirky and fun things that make us who we are. (Not my intention to contribute to any stereotypes and apologies if any of this isn't true for you.)

1. Memorabilia and Collectibles:

Let's face it, we're an emotional bunch. So there's always an unattractive-looking grandma's chest with relics of the past in every Indian household - occupied with a timeline of birthday cards, letters, scraps of clothes, neglected or rejected dress materials and sarees, handkerchiefs and towels, artefacts, trinkets of jewellery and most of the times, random gifts from random people that we're just too sentimental to do away with.

2. In a Pickle:

Oh my God, I doubt there's a single household in India, regardless of class, that doesn't stock piles and piles of pickle jars in their pantry.It's as though we're perennially anticipating a pickle drought in the near future. I don't eat any but I've learned the hard way to keep them stocked anyway.

3. The Recyclables:
Everything in an Indian household is recyclable. So old tees become mops, Ferrero Rocher boxes become scrunchie holders, modified leftovers from the previous night get shoved into breakfast parathas or sandwiches; however fancy packaging from gifts is precious and is saved in a treasure trove until it finds a highly prosperous match.

4. Extended Family:
 Our extended families may fill an entire Vatican city so naturally we're oblivious to more than half of them. A wedding in the family, especially for us kids who were unfortunate enough to be disconnected from them for long, is like a memory test gone horribly wrong and we walk through the maze of strangers with a stoned expression on our faces, trying to absorb all of the family we never knew we had (or need).

5. The Cupidity of Desi Weddings:

A wedding is a gala event, a celebration of eternal love and togetherness, and also, a brewing spot for matches "made in heaven". So if you're a twenty-something girl, you're expected to doll up and flaunt your assets (in a 'nice girl' sort of way) and if you're a boy (25 and above), you're expected to show up (and shave). Prospective brides and grooms make eyes at each other and do some small talk when introduced. But if you make the cardinal sin of getting along and being together in a picture, you'll practically be rumored to be the next Saifeena.

6. Superstitions (or the Golden Rules):
We instinctively don't cut our nails at night, wash our hair on either Thursdays or Saturdays (one day of the week is definitely forbidden depending on where you're from), don't buy iron on Saturdays...the list is endless.

7. Love or Arranged:
That's the story you'll be telling your grand kids. Love is complicated but arranged  is.... COMPLICATED. An arranged match usually means meeting someone your parents think is perfect for you and more often than not, you will find yourself on a coffee date. If sparks fly across the coffee table, awesome. If not, you ask for time. If they still don't, you look for plausible reasons to tell your family on why you can't marry the guy or girl in question. Sparks are like fairy dust to your mom and dad and hence not acceptable reasons to throw away a good match.

8. Train Journeys:
So if you think your extended family wasn't enough, just embark on a long train journey. Eight out of ten times, you'll find yourself sharing personal anecdotes and food, cursing politicians, tending to other people's kids, and being one big happy family, sometimes without even sharing your name.

9. Uncle or Auntie: Doesn't matter how young you look or how radiant your skin is or how you're getting constantly mixed up for a school girl/boy, if you're married, you're an Uncle or Auntie to your society kids.

10. The Wardrobe Dilemma for an Indian Girl:

Cool

Not Cool

Acceptable: Midriff-baring lehenga choli or a saree with a halter-neck blouse
Frowned Upon: Midriff-baring crop tops and halters

11. The Mystical Trap of Indian Food:

It'll be a lifetime before a food lover in India will be deprived of new things to try out. With so many styles, varieties or genres to choose from, it's no wonder that food occupies a major chunk of our life. Even when we're not having Indian food, we're thinking about it. (Someone once told me that Risotto is....cough... just glorified khichdi.) In fact, we're so obsessively in love with our food that we're constantly trying to marry other cuisines with ours. So, we have Indo-Chinese variants of rice and noodles, Paneer tikka toppings on pizzas and Arrabbiata sauce with a Punjabi tadka. (That one's a keeper.)


Disagree? Want to add more? Be my guest and write in your comments :).

Sitcom Classics and the Happy Family Ideal

 I wasn't much of the outdoorsy type as a kid. I sure did get a good 1-2 hours of stomping, jumping and hopping with my friends on weeknights (and unlimited hours of that on weekends), but the moment they switched to serious sports (such as cricket and football), I'd put on my best whiny face and take the rest of the entertainment scheme indoors.  And my dad loved watching comedy family sitcoms. So by these two benevolent forces of nature, I hopped on to the classic family comedy sitcom bandwagon. Hooked on to shows that would go on to be a part of my psyche, even though some of them seem really dated and shadowy now.

So I thought why not reminisce those lovable, feel-good shows that helped me combat those long and boring afternoons of cricket marathons, an attack of mumps, and that proved to be the perfect antidote to rainy day blues (with french fries and ginger tea).

Anyone who grew up in the 90s will probably recollect some of these shows, have the schedule of these shows still memorized, recite some of their theme songs and maybe still carry a phantom of absurd role-models from these shows.

Here is my list of epic fam-com sitcoms that have managed to leave their traces in my oh-so-fleeting memory (in no particular order):

1. Different Strokes: 
A bold comedy that dared to look at racial issues with a sense of humor. A widower steps up to take guardianship of his housekeeper's children after his demise and they are raised in a pretty much white community of  upper-class New Yorkers.  Add quirks from an eccentric housekeeper to the oddity of it all and you have some hilarious moments. But the heart of the show was of course the little grubling with the chubby cheeks, Arnold Jackson, and his famous tagline, "What you talkin' about?"

I haven't tried watching the show recently but I'm not sure if it'd be as funny today as it did have a bunch of serious episodes and I guess we skipped the later seasons where it went on to tackle some grave issues such as drugs, molestation, and bullying. But still worth remembering.

2. Small Wonder:
Ok, as a kid, I ate and drank in front of the TV, held my pee and shushed everyone (including visitors) while this sci-fi comedy went on. It's about a robot modeled after a real human girl (Vikki) and all the situational comedy that comes out of acclimatizing her with becoming as human as possible. Their trouble is aggravated by snoopy and annoying neighbors (who could use a collective punch in the face). I loved the way that little girl balanced her stolid self with her charming wit and an earnest commitment to mimic. And of course, the loving brother-sister moments with Jamie were cute. Again, I'm not sure if it'd be still as funny or just a bit too familiar.

3. Too Close for Comfort:
Not sure if I was too young to watch this as a 10-year old and I don't even remember if I understood all the jokes but the parts I remember were hilarious! So you have a conservative dad married to a former singer. They occupy the upper part of their duplex house. The other half is occupied by their two grown daughters (the stereotypical, inappropriate smokin' hot blonde with the boy issues and a decent-looking, smart-alecky one). Oh, and there's also a transvestite character (Seriously, how were we allowed to watch this?) Anyway, so naturally the dad wants the proximity so he can keep an eye on his daughters and the daughters are always scheming to get away for the sake of their independence.

In a nutshell, the overprotective dad's always meddling in the girls' affairs and also letting his imagination get ahead of him while the mother fruitlessly tries to keep the balance.
FYI, there's a recent show which is sorta inspired from this called 8 Simple Rules.

4. Fresh Prince of Bel Air:
Now, hands down, this is one of the funniest shows on television ever! I have watched the reruns recently and Will's comic timing, Carton's quirky dancing and all his yuppiness, and ofcourse Hilary's delusional spoilt-brat attitude cracks me up all the time! And Geoffrey does complete justice to the sarcastic, disgruntled butler. Add to that an epic cameo star cast- everyone from Queen Latifah to Tyra Banks.

For anyone who's possibly not seen this show, it's about a poor Philadelphia boy going to live with his wealthy uncle and his family and how all their lives get completely flipped-turned upside down  in street slang as Will shatters their old-fashioned ways. It is a laughter riot, y'all!

5. Punky Brewster:
Ah, this girl had spunk! I sure idolized her (way too much to be honest). But you've gotta admire an 8-year old abandoned girl who gets away with everything from crashing in flower carts to trespassing the Chicago Club's dugout. The story revolves around an abandoned girl with her golden retriever who find refuge with a grouchy old man. The irrepressible spirit of Punky Brewster is what wins this show for me as this is a girl who's not afraid to be herself even with her share of misadventures.

I think there are some great value lessons in this show along with all the fun and whimsy. Extremely important lessons about acceptance, respect and individuality! Would definitely have Saanvi see this show. Atleast the good bits.

6. Full House:
Full House gave us the most endearing dad and dad-figures, the Olsen twins (when they were still cute) as the adorable baby Mitchell and all kinds of cutesy-poo situations.

Now I wouldn't call this show hilarious and it kind of did go downhill in the later seasons but then the most important things the Tanner family taught us are how a wholesome family can deal with the horribleness of family conflicts, the confusing gulf between being a child and an adult and how to keep an endless faith that everything will be alright if you just stick together.

7. Bewitched:
The comic premise of this show was simple. Instead of having a grotesque, long-nosed witch, cauldron-stirring, shady-looking character gliding around on a broom, we have a curvy bombshell with a designer wardrobe as an eager-to-please housewife (Samantha) to a charming but goofy ad man (Darin). The episodes would usually have Samantha cast a spell with a twitch of her nose to solve a problem somewhere early in the episode and somehow, the spell would backfire and she'd have to solve a graver problem on account of it.

 I love the episode where Darin sprains his ankle and is confined to bed. Samantha tires of  being at Darin's every beck and call and decides to use witchcraft to get the house to do all the chores for her. Darin goes outlandish with the easy life offered by magic but in time, realizes that things lose their meaning when you don't have to work to get them.

7. 227:
Another popular African-American comedy, 227 explored the routine goings-on and the hot gossips of an apartment building in a primarily Black neighborhood, featuring Marla Gibbs as Mary Jenkins, a no-nonsense, tart-tongued sort of woman, who spends her day sitting around on the stoop keeping tabs on another neighbours.

 I don't remember much about this show but I recall laughter whizzing by every half a minute from my dad, which I thought was hilarious :). Intend to catch this on youtube to do it more justice.

Perhaps this list doesn't comprise totally awesome, "quote from at dinner parties" kind of television. Perhaps, these are shows that have been discarded and long buried underneath for their hackneyed humor and predictable format.

I secretly treasure these shows for all their nostalgic appeal and more importantly, for the reason that they teach us that each family concocts their own formula for happiness, however twisted it may seem to an onlooker. And that if you can manage to laugh off the big and small tragedies together and stand by each other as completely different people, life wouldn't be such a bitch after all.

So there's my list. Anything you'd like to add?