For two years now I’ve listened to the buzz surrounding the television show, This is Us. Apparently everyone in the world, except for Studly and me, is hooked on this drama about a family’s highs and lows, triumphs and heartaches, accomplishments and failures. All I really knew about the show was that it made viewers cry. Every episode provoked tears, it seemed. Why in the world would anyone watch something so depressing?
As my regular readers might know, I’m visiting my daughter and her family in Illinois this week, and last night they forced me to watch This is Us. Handcuffs and leg chains might’ve been involved. As it happened, Wednesday night’s episode was the season finale. About midway through, I felt one tear, then another leak out from the corners of each eye.
“Could someone dab my cheek dry?” I sniffed.
“If you promise not to bolt, we’ll take the restraints off,” my daughter said.
I nodded and continued to cry as she freed my hands, then I folded myself into a modified fetal position. The tears felt good. Cleansing, if you will. And there was laughter, too, so the show never became maudlin.
I might not become a regular This is Us viewer, after all there isn’t a single zombie in the mix, but now I get why people like it. The acting gets an A+ and the characters felt real. Maybe I could suggest the inclusion of an occasional zombie. It could happen.