Someone posted this on FB. I clicked on it expecting to have a light little nostalgic laugh and then get on with my life. I was surprised to find myself sobbing instead.
As a kid in the 70s, in a family that was teetering on falling apart, I derived so much comfort from variety hours on television, especially the Christmas shows. Everything seemed so shiny and normal and upbeat.
Flip Wilson, Tony Orlando, Andy Williams. The Sonny & Cher Hour was my favorite. I loved Sonny & Cher, especially Cher. My sister and I would dance and sing along to “Half Breed” and “Gypsies, Tramps and Thieves,” pretending to be her, our wrists bent, swaying and flicking our hair back with our shoulders as the record played on my parents’ stereo in the living room.
I was so jealous of Chastity. She was this adorable little blonde kid who got to sing on television with all these stars, and have Christmas with her smiling, singing parents.
Then I learned Sonny & Cher were getting a divorce. That was how you said it in the 70s - “getting a divorce.” I was 8 or 9 when they announced they were separating. I took it hard. I cried. I worried about Chastity. I asked my parents again and again if they thought Sonny & Cher might get back together.
I probably sensed that they were next. And they were. Almost exactly a year after Sonny & Cher got a divorce, my parents did.
There’s been some crazy family shit lately. Like bat-shit. It’s been making all this old stuff rise to the surface. It’s the same old shit, but it’s reappearing now in a different, clearer light than ever before. I’m simultaneously slightly relieved and scared shitless. I see what’s been weighing me down all my life - lies for which I’ve been sworn to secrecy. Bring them up now, and they are denied. My sister and I are painted as crazy.
I’m reaching a point though - maybe have reached a point? - where the only thing that will make me legitimately insane is remaining silent.
