I grew up on 1970s sitcoms—which means I was raised by a cranky junk dealer in Watts, an overweight Italian sweat hog in Brooklyn, a cigar-chomping Puerto Rican janitor, a loudmouth bigot from Queens, and a dry-cleaning mogul who moved on up to the East Side. Basically, my entire childhood was like a diversity training program... that worked.
These shows didn’t just entertain—they indoctrinated. But not in the modern sense, where every sitcom feels like a gender studies dissertation disguised as a cooking show. No, back then, we learned real lessons. Like:
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