Recently, a public vote was taken for the “best TV theme song ever.” Competition was fierce and the list of contenders was strong. At the end (it was like “March Madness” I tell ya, with brackets and everything!), the iconic ‘60s sitcom “Gilligan’s Island” beat out the rest of the competition for the number one spot as the fans’ favorite theme song.
I was a big fan of “Gilligan’s Island” and even though I wasn’t nearly as bright as the professor, I was wise enough to demand that my older siblings offer a reasonable explanation as to how Mary Ann was capable of baking a pie when the island didn’t have an oven or electricity. Furthermore, I couldn’t get anyone to explain why Thurston Howell III and his wife would travel with an entire wardrobe for a three-hour tour on a dinky boat when they could well afford a yacht of their own.
As a child of the ‘60s (and ‘70s) television, I saw my past laid out before me while I perused the long list of also-rans that didn’t quite make it to the top. I heard the bubble over my reciting nearly every one of the lyrics that went along with the catchy music without making a single mistake.
I know more intimate details of some of the “Brady Bunch” kids than I do of my friends’ children. I don’t even know what “Hasenpfeffer Incorporated” means, but I can remember that better than most of my passwords to break into my own bank accounts online.
The fact that I can remember this many songs doesn’t say much about what I was doing with my childhood and certainly doesn’t elevate me to genius status. But it definitely makes me feel a hell of a lot better about my potential memory loss, at least in the near future. I still find solace in the last line from “The Mary Tyler Moore Show” … “You’re gonna make it after all.”
If there’s a rest home in your future, I hope it’s called “Cheers.” It’s nice to know it might be a place “where everybody knows your name.”
If only I can remember mine.