On Friday nights when my brother and I were growing up, we got to stay up an hour or two later since there was no school the next day. We’d watch ‘The Dukes of Hazzard’, ‘Webster’ and ‘Mr. Belvedere’ along with, oddly enough, ‘Dallas’. The latter had the best opening theme song – all brassy trumpets and driving bass – and I’d concoct choreographed dance routines in front of the television set. My parents and brother occasionally lifted their gaze to watch.
I’m sure they didn’t know what to make of me.
No one ever knew what to make of me.
