Leave It to Beaver is considered to be, for my generation, the show that ruined us all. We were told, a lot, as the sixties took hold, that not everyone comes from Leave It to Beaver families or lives Leave It to Beaver Lives.
I know that, but I can’t help it. I really do want to be June Cleaver. Some.
I want to appear that svelte in belted dresses. I want June’s gorgeous skin, too.
I want to look calm and collected and elegant, as June does, just hanging around the house. And while I’m hanging out looking that terrific, I want my home to be Cleaver clean.
I want to choose my words carefully, like June, instead of blurting out words that get me in trouble.
And while I’m at it, I’ll trade my Baltimore-born twang for June’s lovely and reassuring voice.
And most of all, I want to bake delicious cookies and cakes like June and never gain an ounce. Oh and I’d like my potholders to look June perfect.
Granted June doesn’t seem to have a lot of hobbies or travel much, but I still want to to be June Cleaver. Almost.
Who do you want to be?
PS. When a daughter asked at 16 to drive to a boyfriend’s down a country road late at night, Cliff lay in bed with his hands folded on his chest as he told her “No.” After she closed our bedroom door, hard, he sighed and said, “I feel like Ward Cleaver.” I guess he has Cleaveritis too!