For the record: I am proud to be a suburban girl.
I remember watching The Wonder Years as a kid with the rest of my family, but, given my young age, I never really appreciated it to the extent it should be appreciated. Going back to watch it now on Netflix, I fall instantly in love with its music, its story and its innocent, charming humor.
It also makes me realize that they really don’t make TV show pilots like they used to. I can only hope for the triumphant return of real, valuable television. I have provided the narration that follows the kiss of Winnie and Kevin by the tree at the end of the pilot… just one example of how powerful the messaging was for The Wonder Years.
It was the first kiss for both of us. We never really talked about it afterward.
But I think about the events of that day again and again.
And somehow I know that Winnie does too,
whenever some blowhard starts talking about the anonymity of the suburbs or the mindlessness of the TV generation.
Because we know that inside each one of those identical boxes,
with its Dodge parked out front and its white bread on the table and its TV set glowing blue in the falling dusk,
there were people with stories,
there were families bound together in the pain and the struggle of love.
There where moments that made us cry with laughter, and there were moments, like that one, of sorrow and wonder.