The Cosby Show

Tuesday, June 8, 2010

I had very strange notions as a child of what my mother would and would not allow me to do. Though the notions themselves have changed in recent years, I'm still unable to accurately guess what my mother's reaction will be to certain situations. Why I'm so bad at reading her (why I'm so bad at reading people in general, really) I don't think I'll ever know. Bottom line is, I'm very bad at it.

When I was somewhere around eight years old, when cartoons were a staple on summer mornings and ice cream was only eaten with parental permission, I discovered The Cosby Show. From the first five minutes, I fell in love. Bill Cosby was the funny man from the Jello Jiggler commercials that surfaced at Christmas time, and the host of that TV show about kids and darndest things, both roles making him unquestionably lovable. This love, on top of my discovery of such an excellent sitcom as The Cosby Show, meant that Bill Cosby was cemented in my mind as a comedic genius to be revered. I had only one problem with my new-found love: my eight-year-old mind convinced itself that my mother would not allow me to watch it. I have no idea what my reasons for this were, but I must have had some, because I was absolutely convinced.

So what did I do, upstanding child that I was? I watched it in secret, of course. When my mother wasn't home, or was in the shower, or taking a nap, The Cosby Show came on. And the minute I heard her footsteps heading anywhere near the television, it turned off. I had my deception practically down to a science.

However, one day, I became so engrossed in the episode, and my mother managed to avoid all the creaky floorboards, that I didn't hear her enter the room. Her voice practically gave me a heart attack. And what did she say? "Oh, The Cosby Show. I love this show!" And what did she do? Sat down and watched it with me. I was astounded, and furious with myself that I hadn't known she would love the show. (My eight-year-old self was apparently not the smartest.)

Ever since then, I've watched The Cosby Show almost as often as it's on television, and for Christmas two years ago, I received the full box set of series DVDs, meaning I no longer have to wait for episodes to surface on those obscure TV channels that play old shows. It's been a fantastic present that I recently rediscovered during Spring term, when I've had very little else to do with my time but watch TV while doing Spanish homework. I can only stand crime shows for so long, but doing Spanish homework in silence leads to insanity, so I'm grateful for The Cosby Show, and it's role in preserving my mind. I don't believe I would have made it through this class otherwise.