Mary Tyler Moore died last
week, and her passing merits a word or two even if no millennial has the
slightest clue who she was.
I am the child of
Christian parents who went to the mission field in the sixties with me in tow and
came back just in time for Abba, Clint Eastwood, Burt Reynolds, Get Smart and the tail end of the Guess
Who’s first incarnation. Pop culture in the seventies blew me away, and it
fascinated my mother in her own way, or so it appeared to me. When we finally
got a TV, she watched her share of then-current fare, flipping channels whenever
the content became inappropriate for family viewing. I watched with her to the
extent I was allowed — and sometimes from behind the couch when I wasn’t.
And boy, did I LOVE
those early seventies sit-coms.












