Lisl Gilbert (Karlene Crockett) doesn't know where to turn when her mother (Rosemary Forsyth) is diagnosed with cancer, and it seems death is only a matter of time. Lisl struggles to understand her mother's fears and anxiety regarding her illness, life, and her family's love. With a father (Wayne Heffley) who cannot articulate his grief to his family, Lisl finds comfort and support in an insightful counselor (Kate Zentall) and comes to know her mother more than ever.

Clearly, the underlying trope is that of mortality, which is hardly something that's specific to teen media. But its treatment in teen media is often rather unique. Unique because usually nobody actually dies. Killing a character off a television show is usually reserved for contract disputes or to get rid of somebody that nobody likes, either on screen or off (Shannen Doherty in Charmed). Programming intended for teens typically takes the less dramatic moving to a different state or country approach (Shannen Doherty in Beverly Hills, 90210), so as to avoid the complicated issue of exploring a developing sense of mortality, because of, I don't know, the networks' insistence that audiences are incapable of dealing with anything reasonable?

Brian Murphy's Popular (the precursor to Glee) took the typical approach to mortality when Harrison was diagnosed with leukemia. He didn't die, but it was a rather protracted illness and I think they put him in gauze headwrap for some inexplicable reason and also in one episode I seem to recall him serving as some sort of spiritual guide for Brooke who maybe had an eating disorder during a starvation-induced hallucination? I don't know, it's been a few years since I've watched Popular and really all I'm able to recall is Mary Cherry, which is not altogether unpleasant.

But really, Popular, for the most part, did an impressively decent job with this.

And then there's Buffy. That show dealt with mortality on a nearly weekly basis, and explored it from nearly every angle possible. Buffy herself died a few times. Then there were the vampires-with-souls struggling with their humanity. And then Tara was murdered and Willow's inability to cope lead to the near destruction of the world (on a much grander scale than was the near destruction of the world that happened every Tuesday).

But none was more poignant than Buffy's mother's struggle with cancer and ensuing death in season five. Buffy was more than familiar with death, but always from a supernatural cause. With Joyce, it was entirely human. The dichotomy was striking and the reactions more realistic than nearly any other exploration of the issue (except perhaps Six Feet Under, but that's not TV, that's HBO).

The episode in which Joyce finally dies ("The Body") is one of the most powerful episodes of television, and despite my current opinion of Joss Whedon, it was masterfully done. Anya's inability to comprehend death is truly moving, and the entire episode is slow, beautiful, and painfully touching.

Peter Harris (Stephen Austin) has grown up on a farm and his father (Bill Sorrells) hopes his son will follow in his footsteps, but Peter has his sights set on a ballet career—something his parents know about but his father refuses to discuss. When Peter is awarded the lead in "The Nutcracker," he has to choose between basketball practice and the performance. His father struggles with the situation, but after he sees his son dance for the first time, Peter's father witnesses his son's special gift.

Which obviously means this explores two separate (yet almost equally important!) issues. The overt issue of MY PARENTS DON'T UNDERSTAND ME and the delivered-only-through-subtext issue of I AM A BOY AND ALSO LIKE BOYS.

The treatment of all of this has much the same effect as the ballerino's uniform: the spandex tights cover it up, but the dance belt pushes it to the forefront, so while you can't actually see it, it's all you're able to think about.

So there are two ways to proceed with this: either the rather abstract "follow your passion and your parents will come around" or, you know, this one.

I think it's probably obvious which way I would rather take this, but let me explain! It's not just because the songs are catchy or that I am an insufferable Gleek or because specific is easier than abstract (though probably also because of those reasons), but because as a culture we have sort of progressed to the point where what Martin Tahse may have been trying to pound into impressionable brains can actually be explored without trying to ineffectively hide it behind a weirdly held binder or an awkwardly placed backpack.

Dawson's Creek was really the first to break ground in both the "gay teens are people too" and the "gay people sometimes actually act like normal people and sometimes even kiss" categories with Jack McPhee. Which is impressive! And was risky for The WB. But it set an important precedent, and I'm not going to dwell much further on it because I've never actually seen Dawson's Creek, which may be surprising (!), and maybe I should watch it at some point JUST BECAUSE.

But anyway!

Now there are gay teens almost everywhere and their gayness is usually no longer a Very Special Episode thing. Which is nice!

(I should maybe mention something about Queer as Folk because it fell somewhere between Dawson's Creek and now, but I don't want to because the US version was so, so, so bad and the UK version is kind not much better and also British so it defeats the purpose of this new format, but I have to say two things: first, I just last week discovered that the British Michael, whatever his name was, the one who liked Doctor Who instead of comic books? was played by the guy that played one of the wireless operators in Titanic and I like him much better in period costume, and second, holy hell Charlie Hunnam is in Sons of Anarchy and that just blew my mind completely.)

And now we have Gossip Girl's Eric van der Woodsen and Glee's Kurt Hummel regularly appearing on network television being as gay as they want with no particular special treatment given to them (except the occasional kidfooting around Eric because he was a cutter and Kurt's extensive wardrobing). What's fantastic is that there is now some nuance (at least as much as these shows allow).

And because of this, I've been able to realize how misguided I was during those several months freshman year when I thought ties around bare necks were a good idea. So thanks for that!

1980's School Boy Father was one of the first acting roles for the sixteen year old Rob Lowe, seven years after Roe v. Wade and eight years before his, ahem, trouble. And he was dreamy in that sort of generic, sexually non-threatening, Tiger Beat sort of way that youngish girls tend to like for some reason. Whatever. He was all softish and had obnoxious hair and jeans that were too high and he is far more appealing as Sam Seaborn with grey in his temples and Aaron Sorkin's dialogue (and oh, was he ever nice as kind of a dick with really good genes and thick-rimmed glasses in The Invention of Lying and also he is even kind of nice in Brothers & Sisters as the Republican person, despite the overall kind-of-bad-but-kind-of-good-ness of that show).

But anyway! What nugget of moral wisdom was Martin Tahse trying to impart with stilted dialogue and terrible hair this time?

Sixteen-year-old Charles Elderberry (Rob Lowe) dallies at summer camp with sexy Daisy (Dana Plato) and discovers later, to his astonishment, that she has borne his child. Unlike other teenagers who might go into hiding, Charles races to the hospital to see his son and is horrified to learn that Daisy is putting the child up for adoption. Having grown up without a father, he insists on his right to keep the baby, and with the help of a social worker (Beatrice Colen) he is granted a trial adoption, much against his mother's advice. The outcome of the story is both real and poignant, as Charles reluctantly faces reality.

The outcome was neither real nor poignant. It was mostly stupid and also mostly just illustrated how stupid teenage boys are. I mean, really? YOU ARE SIXTEEN. You cannot raise a child. Also, it illustrates how fond these writers were of broad strokes and contrived plot points in order to impart their supposed wisdom.

Particularly, I have issues with the fact that the social worker granted him a trial period. IT IS A BABY. Do hamsters even come with trial periods?

But, you know, whatever. Teenagers should be aware of the consequences of their actions and actually know about contraception and babies are expensive so you can't buy the ugly car that you want if you have a baby. (Also, a suggestion to Charles Elderberry? Carnations are cheap and ugly and insulting. Do not take the girl that has just had your child a single carnation. I suppose the limited budget of this production could explain the choice of a carnation (save it where you can!), but seriously, the prop closet must have had a fake rose or daisy or something.)

And apparently most of them aren't? At least if you consider MTV's 16 and Pregnant to be a representative sample of teenagers across the country (hint: it's not). But that one amazing couple was and they were smart and I kind of loved them and mostly wanted to smack all of the others because OMG THEY ARE SIXTEEN. And stupid.

And now we get to compare this to actually decent things! Like Glee!

Most television shows of the teen variety tend to avoid the introduction of babies. Sure, they love the pregnancy because they can get all very special episode about it, but if the baby actually ever shows up then it is just an obnoxious foil to everything and standards and practices tends to frown upon killing babies. So we're most often left with a variety of scares, adoption, abortion, and miscarriage, with the last two being mostly rare because again standards and practices—especially for a teen show—don't like that much controversy.

So Glee is really the only thing that seems to actually be going down the teen pregnancy road in any sort of leisurely fashion where (OMG!) a set of twins or triplets may actually need to be cast. I think 7th Heaven probably went down that road once or twice or something, but that was even more excruciating than these After School Specials because of the incessant religiosity and indoctrination and probably whichever teen-mother was probably also teen-married, so it doesn't count.

What is interesting about the way Glee is handling this is the competition between the two potential fathers and their underlying motivations. Finn is too stupid to realize that he's not the father (which...urgh) and also too stupid to actually have independent thought, and Puck is too... Puck is also stupid, but I don't think that's the source of his motivation. The stupid reinforces what is probably a more basic instinct of possession? And Quinn, well, I don't think she's stupid; she's manipulative and too blinded by her faith to actually consider abortion.

So now we get to see the same issues Schoolboy Father explored: money, responsibility, parental rights, and the continued inability of teenage boys to understand the basic mechanics of human sexuality (which...did I just read a lot more than most people, because I knew how this stuff worked in fourth grade). And we also have songs!

Personally, I think Patsy Stone has the perfect solution for this particular trope.

While hilarious painful and entirely appropriate for bored nights with friends (but only when you've just taken delivery of a tanker-sized quantity of vodka or gin), After School Specials do not lend themselves terribly well to recapping for a large audience that's largely never seen them. Half the fun of recaps is the familiarity with the source material. The other half comes from character development and ongoing plots, facilitating bizarre and asinine in-jokes, a recapping shorthand that develops over the course of the recaps, and maybe even sometimes the sort of joy and utility that one gets from making fun of something they truly enjoy?

I really enjoy nothing about these After School Specials. Even the title and credit design is jarringly painful.

But! The After School Specials are rife with tropes and memes and nonsensical ideas that have since percolated through our culture, launching countless media ventures with larger (though sometimes not by much) budgets, greater subtlety (again, sometimes not much greater), and camera technology that uses something with greater visual fidelity than a cassette tape.

I'm referring, of course, to The WB and its ilk. It's true that The WB wasn't the first, preceded by ABC with My So-Called Life and by FOX with a variety of teen programming that I haven't been particularly bothered to invest time in because I've never really understood the allure of Johnny Depp and why should I assault my eyes with the hideous fashions of the old Beverly Hills, 90210 when I can watch it all sparkly and new (and even with Shannen Doherty!) on The New CW? (As an aside, I find the progression of FOX to The WB/UPN to The CW (and now maybe even back to FOX again with Glee???) and the programming decisions absolutely fascinating.)

So we're going to change things up a little (after only one post! and also congratulate me for avoiding the pun that would have been so easy). Instead of epic, Tolstoyian recaps of things that nobody anywhere has cared about in thirty years, we're going to use them to explore issues (!) and tropes in media that is slightly more relevant (by which I mean it was relevant ten years ago) and cared for by a marginally greater number of people than 0. And also Glee, because damn those songs are catchy.

Plus, doesn't it look like these people are having more fun than anyone in any of those After School Specials? If only maybe because their waistbands don't rest under their armpits? (ALSO OMG I MISS THE TIME WHEN RED PLEATHER PANTS AND ANIME-INSPIRED HAIR WERE CULTURALLY ACCEPTABLE.)

For the first part of this particular experiment into masochism and time-suck, I had hoped to recap what's become arguably the most famous of the After School Specials: Rob Lowe's Schoolboy Father (some would argue that Calista Flockhart's turn as a vomit-hoarding bulemic was actually the pinnacle of this genre, and I would probably agree, if I were at all able to acquire that undoubtedly glorious hour of television). Of course, of all of the disks that I could have misplaced, it would have been that one.  So instead, we're left with "First Step", which aired as "She Drinks a Little." And it was utterly average.  The picture I've chosen to lead with does a fairly competent job of depicting my reaction.

So let's start with the summary!

Cindy (Amanda Wyss) and her younger brother (Elliot Jaffe) have been living with the dangers and embarrassment of their alcoholic mother (Bonnie Bartlett) for many years. When Cindy wins the lead in the school play, her mother, who always wanted to be in the theater is so filled with joy, she stops drinking for four weeks and finds a job. Cindy honestly believes her mother has made a change for the better. Based on the novel by Anne Snyder.

Most of that didn't happen! Or, more precisely, the first sentence is true! And I would assume the last is also true (though I refuse to read the novel to verify it). But the middle two sentences suggest a version of events as interpreted, perhaps, by the proprietor of Cindy's mother's liquor store. Or maybe Cindy's mother herself.

But now, to the recap!

We open on a smallish boy—who we eventually learn is Cindy's brother—returning from walking a dog of some sort—which we never see again, so this detail is hardly important—only to discover that he's been locked out of his house.  He wanders off to climb through a window or something. We then cut to Cindy standing in front of her bedroom mirror enjoying some of the wonderfully low-budget scenery for breakfast while "practicing" "lines" for a "play".  We then cut to her mother shuffling around the kitchen and retrieving orange juice from the refrigerator, which my cynical and vodka-soaked brain leads me to assume is for her morning cocktail.  This is never confirmed, but alluded to, when slightly later, as everyone gathers around the table, she indicates that her glass of juice is more than sufficient for her breakfast.

For most, breakfast is the most important meal of the day. For this family, breakfast is a time of exposition (!) through which we learn that the son is named Brat (or it is actually probably Brett, but I think he's called both with equal frequency), and Cindy pays the bills because the mother is both unreliable and uninterested and when she does show an interest, it's all Cindy can do to dissuade her.  Case in point: Cindy's open house! Which such an obvious case of foreshadowing that the anvil was just kind of sitting at the breakfast table drinking a cup of coffee and smoking a cigarette.

Cindy flounces off at the sound of a car horn, as her ride has just arrived, while her mother continues to nurse her screwdriver.  (Which leads me to a slight digression: the world must be a quieter place because of cell phones. Obviously, there's a lot more incessant chatter, but we don't have nearly as many car horns announcing arrivals and what not, so that must be a good thing!)

Once Cindy arrives at school in what appears to be a clown car (seriously, like seven people climb out of this compact including, it seems, the driver), this pleasant older woman informs her that the other Mothers of the Carpool have voted her mother out. Because she's sick. She even offers to call and tell her! Cindy declines the offer, and seems far less enthusiast than the pleasant older woman at the fact that they'd still like her to ride with them. Anyway, off to class!

And because academics are not endogenous to the story that Martin Tahse is telling, we're off to "auditions" for the school "play", where we learn that Cindy has inexplicably (at least to me) won the lead role, much to the dismay of someone in high-waisted pants that I assume we're supposed to dislike, but after this she never really shows up again. Cindy is happy, and so is her friend, who was anxiously eavesdropping outside the auditorium door. Apparently, nobody at this school goes to class (and I'm anticipating this is going to be a common occurrence throughout, so I will try to avoid mentioning it again).

Their excitement is short lived as Cindy's mother comes strolling through the front (?) door, powdering her nose. Cindy is displeased, but Mother refuses to leave until she's met some of the teachers. So off to Algebra we go, where Cindy's mother manages to meet Mrs. Algebra (it is impossible to figure out what precisely they're calling her because Cindy doesn't articulate, her mother slurs, Mrs. Algebra has that peculiar old lady voice, and it seems as if this episode was recorded on a cassette tape). What's important is that Mrs. Algebra is married to Mr. English-and-Drama, and that Cindy's mother is an embarrassment, in case you've somehow missed that point.

Then, Cindy's mother excuses herself because she needs to use the "little girls' room".

Uh, of course she does.

Next we meet Mr. English-and-Drama Teacher, who is manning the punch bowl.

So, Cindy's mother used to be a dancer! Until she got pregnant with Cindy. Which can be interpreted in two ways: she was a stripper who got knocked up after one of her shifts. Or! She took dance lessons in high school and got knocked up by the captain of the football team. Either way, her dreams were destroyed, she regrets her choices in life, and can find solace only in the bottom of a bottle.

Then there is some mostly uninteresting stuff about Cindy's daily life! Lunch with her friend, her mother sobbing in the night, "play" "rehearsal", "hopes", "aspirations", and "bonding" with her stage manager (Mitch, or something—he has bad hair). She really is becoming an actress!

Anyway! We cut to a scene where Mitch is walking Cindy home. They walk into Cindy's house to find this:

Cindy becomes defense, as her denial has slightly addled her brain! Mitch tries to help, but Cindy refuses and chases him and his hair away.

The next morning, Cindy's mother lets everyone know that she has a job interview! If we're to assume this is the next day, which I think we are, I have to wonder how Cindy's mother has managed to schedule an interview while passed out in a drunken stupor. It is apparently not important though! Because she has an interview! At a dime store. I don't know.

We then cut to Cindy's walk to school (apparently the car pool didn't end up working out, or there's another alcoholic mother, OR it's one of those car pools that are really far more inconvenient than they're worth because they drop you off further away from your destination than you were when you started). It gives her a chance to catch up with Mitch!

We also learn that Cindy's friend is Jewish! And Mitch is bizarrely blasé about his incredibly alcoholic parents. Or his parents were too drunk to teach him how to properly interact with people. But aww! He likes Cindy. But what a bizarre foundation for a high school romance.

Cindy arrives home to find her mother in an uncharacteristically pleasant mood (as we've learned, Mother is not a pleasant, happy drunk). She has good news! She got the job! And to celebrate, they're having meatloaf and after dinner they're going to play cards or Scrabble. Oh, okay. I'd personally consider that incredibly torturous, but then maybe the extra yards of fabric in the rise of their pants alter their perception of reality.

Regardless, their evening goes swimmingly until Mother breaks out her Dancer's Vocabulary during scrabble.

The ominous bells really make this scene perfect. And this scene makes Cindy reconsider Mitch's invitation to the Alateen meeting! (Also, what is that thing around Mother's neck? Crazy!)

The Alateen meeting is mostly unbearable and tedious with a lot of moralizing and lecturing. But look! Mrs. Algebra is their sponsor! And everybody's parents are alcoholics! Undoubtedly because the budget for this was probably $500 and they wanted to limit the number of "actors" they had to cast.

The next morning, when Cindy decides for some inexplicable reason to tell her mother about the Alateen meeting, we're introduced to the Denial Brigade, who then usher in the Calvary of Indignation.

Well, that's why they had to save money by casting fewer actors. They spent all of their budget on liquor that was just thrown into the sink! If they had been smart, they could have just picked some bottles out of a trash can.

This demonstration somehow convinces Cindy that her mother has reformed and given up the alcohol. They haven't really done much to convince us that she's smart, so, you know, I guess I can buy it.

There's more nonsense about the "play" and what's supposed to be a touching dress-fitting with Cindy and her Mother (perhaps that is what "filled with joy" in the summary is referring to, but that makes a bizarre timeline), and then it's time for the play!

Which is awful.

But Cindy's mother thinks it was fantastic!

And it seems she's also restocked.

Obviously, Cindy is devastated. But it gives Mitch an opportunity to offer a shoulder for Cindy to cry on.

The next day we find Cindy banging away at a piano that's magically found its way into their living room (I don't think it was there before). Her mother saunters down the stairs complaining about—what is to her—an inexplicable headache. Cindy has had enough! So there is a confrontation, and Cindy actualizes her way to acceptance.

Which we can tell, because she's walking pensively to an Alateen meeting. (Also, where did they film this? That sky looks both terrifyingly menacing and fake.)

When Cindy returns home, she and her brother (Brat, or whatever) discover their mother's been drinking again.

But this time Cindy knows how to deal with the problem, and explains to her brother:

Mom's an alcoholic. It doesn't mean she's bad or doesn't love us; it means she's sick. And the best way we can help her is to leave her alone. When she's drunk, we stay out of her way, and when she makes a mess, she cleans it up. And maybe that way she'll begin to see a problem, and just maybe she'll go for help.

Wanna go skating?

And so they do, leaving their mother slumped over her bed, surrounded by empties.

And I've learned that rollerskating solves everything and that alcoholism is an acceptable foundation upon which to build a relationship. Congratulations Martin Tahse, you've taught me something!