The Brady Bunch house was what I grew up seeing as super cool and super modern. The ranch exterior, straight stairway with open stairs. My sister lived in our attic in New York just like Greg. What was cooler than that? It was like a dream to me, the happy family whose problems ended in 24 minutes. In fact it was a dream. The problem was that I believed that was how it should go. Something inside really bit on the mirage that TV painted. In my secret heart I believed life could be like that. That fantasy got wound tight into my interior world and it took me a long time to unravel that ball of yarn. I still like the architecture though. Give me a flat, low roof and broad windows and the little boy in me is transported to southern California and lives in bright sunshine with natural highlights bouncing off blonding hair.
