The Sullivan family came in two phases. Phase I was older brother Scotty, Sue Jane, and Sara—born in those Baby Boomer ’50s. The 2.0 version arrived the next decade because—and I quote my mother here—“I always wanted five children.” As much as I was dazed by that comment when I heard it the first time, I cannot imagine my world without the youngest, Shane and Sabrina. Here are some personal observations as a result of Mom and Dad’s procreation timeline.
We three older siblings grew up with “The Three Stooges.” Those guys were THE source for laughter and entertainment in the day when television choices were meager. On Saturday mornings we were glued, but later the beforeschool viewing was as much a part of our nutritional diet as were the cereal and milk we inhaled on a daily basis. Scotty can still quote Moe, Sara responds with Curley’s sound effects, and I channel Larry and try to avoid the conflict. Perhaps I have been known on occasion to Be Like Moe and hit Sara, but truthfully, she just bruises easily. The Three Stooges are an acquired taste, but I am sorry for those who never saw the humor in gouging eyes and slapping faces at any given moment. Such is the case for the Sullivans Four and Five.
When they were at the preschool and elementary ages for television viewing, Shane and Sabrina had access to “quality” viewing: “Sesame Street,” “Mister Rogers’ Neighborhood,” and the precursor to MTV—“Schoolhouse Rock.” My theory is that these shows made them soft. Shane and Sabrina were nice when they played together. Today, Shane is still sensitive and Sabrina passive, and both are kind.
Our educational experiences exposed another gap. We older three were hooked on phonics when it was not a catchy phrase. Teaching was fundamental. Learning was basic. And Mrs. Bishop and Miss Eoff were generals (whom we adored and respected); we learned out of fear. They wore heels and dresses and hosiery, not convenient pantyhose that came in an egg-shaped container. There were few smiles and even fewer recesses. In P.E., we could throw dodgeballs at someone’s head.
The little brother and sister had a new wave of teachers, as ours had retired. And with that departure came the onset of new and innovative teaching, particularly in reading and math. Shane and Sabrina did not live up to our high spelling standards and did not win the multiplication flash-card games. Although the little ones did make up for it by being ever-so-sweet and behaved in the classroom because of their television viewing, our Sullivan academic standing took a momentary hit. All turned out fine, as both Shane and Sabrina went on to earn their master’s degrees, so whatever.
Nostalgia, as much as I appreciate it, still comes with a bit of tongue in cheek. I am not advocating a platform for the good ol’ days. Nor has this week’s column been a blanket critique of one generation over another. We adapt, or we should, to the inevitable changes.
It is still a source of pride knowing that my foundation was built partly on the slapstick of three entertainers (four if you count the underrated Shemp, who was the brother of Moe and Curley). And even without Sesame Street’s Count Dracula, I learned to count. I could have used Mister Rogers, though—still don’t hang up my clothes and put away my shoes when I come in the door.
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