I was just trying to get to Thursday nights.
Fall 1985. New to California. A week into 7th grade at a rough and hardcore inner city middle school, my dad was killed by his brother. Take that insurmountable pain and grief and add to that being a Black nerd knee deep in puberty and the emotional whirlwind that goes with that…and THEN add the fact that I was l surrounded by mini gangbangers, thugs and 13 year old girls growing up way too fast.
I was just trying to get to Thursday nights.
After spending day in and day out trying to manage grades, grief and absolute chaos from my classmates – slapping me in the back of my head for no reason, nerd insults, jokes about the way I walked, (false) gay slurs, etc – I had one job: Get to Thursday night at 8 PM CT on NBC 4. For, at that time every single week: BLISS. RESPITE. ESCAPE via the trials and tribulations of Dr. Heathcliff Huxtable and his family.
Those 30 minutes watching Dr. Huxtable and his family was a release valve for me. All that stress I was under disappeared in that moment. When we got our first VCR, I began recording each episode and played them all on repeat on a daily basis.
I needed that bliss. That respite. That escape.
Imagine how I feel right now after binge watching We Need To Talk About Cosby and finding out the depths of suffering and pain that Bill Cosby inflicted upon those women…and lied his ass off calling it “consent” for dropping date rape drugs on his innocent victims…some of whom appeared on my TV on those Thursday nights!
Were my Thursday nights a lie? What was BLISS to me was PAIN on countless numbers of women through the entire run or the show.
The Cosby Show was my favorite TV series of all time. I still watched it regularly on Prime and other apps.
Can I enjoy it again? Can I separate the character known as “America’s Dad” from the real man who was a stone cold sociopathic sexual predator?
Helluva tension to sit in when all I was trying to do 35 years ago was just survive and get to Thursday night.
☹️😢
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