“We’re not sorry that we tricked you”  

We had a TV in the large, ground floor family room our suburban house offered before my parents converted it to a studio apartment for rent when they couldn’t make ends meet on my mother’s sole consistent income and my father’s sporadic, dysfunctional alcoholic income. This conversion happened so early in my life that I only have a few memories of spending time in the family room; these memories are happy and cherished. Memories of playing with my Skeletor and Cobra Commander. Memories of Christmas morning’s Nintendo Entertainment System set up– reveling in the disbelief that my parent’s actually got me one; reveling in the newness of the experience. Playing Duck Hunt (1985) at the advised six-foot distance from the television, measured with precision, probably for the only time. Probably the only time playing Gyromite (1985) as intended while watching ROB the Robot interact with the television in what felt like the future unraveling right then and there in our ground floor family room.

My dad and I would hang out in the family room on lazy weekend afternoons, where he’d watch TV and presumably drink– I was blissfully unaware at the time– and I’d be on the floor playing with my action figures and wooden blocks as he’d be flipping channels with his large, wired, cable TV remote. Every time he’d land on something that had the 20th Century Fox fanfare, I’d hope it was Star Wars. It never was, and I don’t know how I knew the 20th Century Fox fanfare may indicate an impending showing of Star Wars or if I just wished every movie that came on were Star Wars, but I know I never got my wish. My dad usually insisted on watching Star Trek (1966-1969) or M*A*S*H (1972-1983).

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