:: Sitcom ending ::
Unlike Christene, who has an encyclopedic memory for all things TV (I mean, as a baby, her first word was - no joke - "Scooby-Doo") I don't remember a lot of specific television moments from my childhood, The Simpsons notwithstanding, but one I vividly recall, for whatever reason, is the series finale of Growing Pains.
In that episode, the Seaver family uproots from Long Island, NY for Washington, DC because the mom, Maggie, takes a new TV anchor job there. It's an episode filled with sap and nostalgia, not to mention the typical Family-Moves-Away plot device as a way to end the show (copied by a million shows before and since, notably Friends).
The final scene before the end credits roll sees Maggie taking one last loving glance around the now-empty living room. Conveniently, the family has forgot to pack one last family photo, which is framed and sitting on the mantle above the fire place. Maggie moves to pick it up, and behind it, carved into the brick facade, are four words: "Mike Seaver was here"
She smiles, walks back to the front door, does the slow-dramatic-one-last-glance-half-smile-turn-off-the-lights thing, and then you hear the door click shut.
/scene.
Tonight I had to drop off all my keys and garage-door openers back at the now-empty townhouse, because tomorrow the sale closes and the new people take possession. Christene had joked with me before dinner about doing a "sitcom ending" where I do the same slow turn-out-the-lights routine, or perhaps say something sappy, sad or profound as I turn the key for the last time. But I figured I'd probably just lock the door and leave.
But after I put the keys on the kitchen counter, and slowly took one last tour around the place, I suddenly felt a little sad - I honestly didn't think I would. I shoulda known better.
So I did what TV had told me to do years earlier. I took my keys, opened the accordian door to the hall closet, and on the one-inch wide edge of the door, carved a medium-sized 'N'.
I was there.
Christene, of course, was impressed that I'd finally decided to over-dramatize our exit. She carved a 'C' right below it.
"Are you gonna turn the lights out really slow and say something as we go?" she asked.
No, I wasn't. I didn't.
But I did take the welcome mat back, which at one point I figured I'd just leave for the new owners. But I took it. It was my mat, after all, and they weren't getting it.
No, they weren't getting it.
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