By Matt Nuccio
Some of my earliest memories were sitting and watching the Brady Bunch. Back then I was Bobby Brady’s age, the youngest of the males of the Brady clan. I related to him. Like Bobby I was a day dreamer. Bobby would spend his time fantasizing about being an astronaut, a race car driver and a cowboy. 
Likewise, I would imagine myself fighting alongside the Thunder Cats and Rambo. As time passed and I continued to watch Brady reruns, I graduated to sharing in Peter’s issues. Peter, the middle son, always seemed to have problems. He would worry, as most preteens do, about what others thought of him. But he always felt confident in the end. Eventually I rounded up to Greg’s status, the oldest son who always tried to be the ladies’ man.
Last night while lying in bed it dawned on me… I’m starting to relate more to the father, Mr. Brady. It’s scary how my life and a campy seventies sitcom have run parallel. Now that I’m father, I’m trying to do what is right for my family. And just like Mike Brady did, I find myself babbling long-winded solutions to life’s little problems. I guess, in a way, that’s the way I became the Brady Bunch.