"HOW ARRESTED DEVELOPMENT STOLE (ASPECTS OF) MY LIFE STORY"
or
"I CAN'T MAKE THIS SHIT UP:
A(NOTHER) RETROSPECTIVE OF A SOUTHERN CALIFORNIA FAMILY"
Meet Frank* and Claire* Coleman.
Frank owns a successful self-titled business in Long Beach, CA.
(Coleman Truck & Brake Specialties, 1958-1994.
The business has several promotional pick-ups, though tragically no Stair Car.)
Frank and Claire are extremely wealthy.
They live in a custom home on the bay in Naples, Long Beach.
(Filmed as Uncle Roy's home in the "Matt Houston" TV series.)
They drive Benzes hand-picked in Germany.
They belong to the local Yacht Club and Country Club.
They have 3 sons. All work for 'the company'.
Frank has an affair with the sex-cretary.
Claire is busy lunching at the club and playing bridge.
Frank and Claire divorce.
'Risky' becomes 'Don't Buy'.
The company collapses.
The building catches fire.
Documents are 'lost'.
(Cruelty-free alpaca) Eyebrows are raised.
Frank says "Marry me!" to a woman his son's age.
Claire gets a facelift and pursues life everywhere except within her means.
Houses are sold.
Marriages end.
People go bankrupt.
The family's most valued possessions and heirlooms are auctioned from its storage unit.
There is no money in the banana stand.
Frank hits the road to another state.
Claire sparks up a pen pal romance with a tax fraud jailbird who 'salvages' her finances.
(No. Really. I can't make this shit up.)
-----
I am Calvin.
Frank and Claire's grandson.
An only child.
The first grandchild.
The good kid.
The golden boy.
The Michael Bluth of our family.
The previous narrative accounts for my first decade of life.
I realized early on-
After two generations of "I've made a huge mistake", I had to sift through the perpetual crazy and vow to do whatever I could to keep this family together.
After all, what's the only thing more important than breakfast?
Add to the aforementioned patriarchal characters:
A pot smoking, crack dealing mother who collects skulls and teaches kindergarten.
An alcoholic stepmother who proselytizes when she's plastered and lives on Lipitor.
A father who never tires of mooning the traffic on PCH.
An uncle who collects DUI's like they're Fabergé and spawns a child with his niece.
And many more...
Selfishness.
Slandering.
Spending.
Sleazing.
Snorting.
Stealing.
Searching.
Lots of lies.
And lots of love.
(But more lies.)
Sometimes one grounded individual can hold together a host of hot messes.
Two decades later many of the lies have faded, the facades dissipated.
People are reconnecting in ways one would never have thought possible.
Somehow, the bonds of family prevail.
Shit fosters growth.
From the very first viewing of AD, I was obsessed.
(It is the only TV series I have purchased on DVD.)
The consistently sharp wit of the dialog.
The convincingly portrayed over-the-top characters one grows to love.
The absurd (yet disturbingly familiar) plot lines.
The iconic childhood landmarks.
The dysfunction.
OH, THE DYSFUNCTION.
I was home.
I'm ready to 'hop-on' and 'walk-on'.
Please let me come home.
(And then let's exchange chicken impressions over juice and grilled cheese.
Or perhaps a few Virgin Marys aboard the Queen Mary.)
*the first names have been changed in a feeble half-assed attempt to protect the 'innocent'.
