Someone was taking a poll on Facebook:
“What did you do when you were a kid on Friday nights?”
Friday nights, I escaped the hot classrooms and boring school work, taking a break from navigating the social intricacies of pre-adolescence.
I’d have two hamburgers, a root beer, and a snickers bar, and take it all to my room, and hunker down in front of the black and white TV that I’d rolled in on its cart. Behind the closed door I watched my programs from early evening to late in the night after everyone else was asleep. Big Valley, Six Million Dollar Man, Rockford Files, and Police Woman. Later, it was Johnny Carson–on Fridays, they’d have the Mighty Carson Art Players. Even later I could catch Wild Wild West and Star Trek.
It was my favorite evening of the week, where I sat alone in my quiet room, filling up on food and stories of heroes, horses, humor, spaceships, and sex (Angie Dickinson was Police Woman).
When I was a little older, I left the TV to ride around town in cars with the guys. We raced up and down Andrews Highway in Midland Texas. We’d stop at the Taco Villa for sodas, and then drive some more. The guys would roll their windows down at the stoplights so they could shout to each while they revved their engines. They argued about whose daddy had bought them the fastest car. Or we’d talk about girls.
Maybe I was doing it wrong, but it was kind of boring. Not like the funny wisecracks of Jim Rockford, or the skimpy outfits of undercover Angie. And nothing was as funny as Johnny Carson.
Does this make me out to be a pathetic kid?
But not on Friday nights when I could spend time with cowboys, a private investigator, a cyborg, a comedian, and a starship captain.
And pretend I was Angie’s boyfriend.