Hate to break bad news, but Alan Thicke died earlier today. He was 69, and passed of a heart attack.
People have their various favorite TV dads. If you’re a child of the 80s (as I am), the decision generally comes down to Cliff Huxtable, Phillip Drummond, Edward Stratton III, George Papadapolis, Steven Keaton or Jason Seaver.
For me, it’s Seaver in a landslide.
I absolutely loved Growing Pains, in the way one loves a first crush. My family was wonderful but conventional. My mom was a probation officer, my dad a headhunter. We had dinners together, we watched movies. We did pretty much everything you’re supposed to do.
The Seavers, however, were money. There was always some wacky adventure involving the overly horny oldest son, or the geeky daughter, or the little guy, or the nanny who wound up a stripper, or Leonard DiCaprio (look it up). And, whatever good or bad transpired, it always ended with Jason Seaver reassuring the kids (and world) that everything would be OK. Matthew Perry died? All’s good. Kirk Cameron didn’t snort coke in the bathroom? Wonderful. Grades slipping? Bad attitudes? Grumpiness? Puberty? Jason Seaver was a fucking rock.
Plus, he sang the damn theme song.
RIP.
