When We Were Free to Be: Looking Back at a Children’s Classic and the Difference It Made

Ringside Seat at the Revolution

150 Ringside Seat at the Revolution Abigail Pogrebin It’s strange—and perhaps somewhat pathetic—to be so proud, at age forty-six, of something I did when I was seven. But Free to Be . . . You and Me is that badge that allows me to say, “I was there.” I was there when Mom brought home the prospective songs for the show, and I remember listening to them for the first time in our living room. I remember when she read “Atalanta” aloud, and then hearing Marlo Thomas and Alan Alda bring it to life on the album. I was there on that crisp morning when we shot the opening sequence of the TV show in Central Park; I was lucky enough to be holding Marlo’s right hand as she sparkled in her fabulous red cape and we ran south on the park’s west drive. We had to do take after camera take, smiling till our cheeks hurt. Afterward, we all posed on the jungle gym in my childhood playground at 67th Street for what became the black-and-white photo on the back of the record album. I remember holding onto the cold metal bars and feeling again the honor of being so near the star. I was assigned a painted horse on that cheerful carousel that the set designers plunked down in the Sheep Meadow, and I’m one of the kids who morphs into animation when the horses bolt. Most memorable of all, I sat in that odd geodesic dome under TV lights, facing Marlo and answering—very self-seriously—her questions about siblings: Marlo: Is it really great having a twin? Abby: Oh, YES. Like when I have a secret or I did something at school and my brother wouldn’t understand it, but my sister , she would. It’s good to have someone to bring it out to . . . who’s my age. To this day—no joke—people recognize me: “Wasn’t that you . . . ?” Or, more accurately, since they often know I’m an identical twin: “Was that you or Robin talking to Marlo in that dome contraption?” Ringside Seat at the Revolution 151 They’re asking because they’re still watching it. And they’re still watching it because they now have kids of their own and want them to watch it. Free to Be lives on—for all the right reasons. It managed to distill—in accessible, tuneful, endearing vignettes—one acid-clear message: You can do everything the world offers. Period. Don’t let any person or prejudice stop you. In some ways, I believe that Free to Be had as seismic a cultural impact as any speech, protest, or legislation during the women’s movement. Because it was entirely entertaining and nonthreatening, everyone could embrace it without appearing overtly “political.” Also because it was unimpeachably logical: Girls and boys possess nothing inherently different that should prevent them from choosing the same pursuits and following the same passions. And it didn’t hurt that the message was coming from beloved, telegenic celebrities. The only hitch in this fairy tale, as far as I’m concerned, is the standard it set. I grew up believing everything was possible and kind of painless. So it was disillusioning to learn as an adult that being “free” didn’t mean being free of ambivalence, free of pressure, free of selfreproach . Free to Be painted a sunny, uncomplicated picture, underscored by my mother’s seemingly effortless juggling act at home. So later, when I became a mother myself, I was unprepared for the moments when I felt I wasn’t balancing everything as breezily as advertised . I felt guilty when I traveled for work, and then I missed being at work when I was at the playground with my kids. I judged women who stayed on the fast track and those who got off. When I left my job as a producer for 60 Minutes—because I no longer wanted to leave my sleeping infant before dawn to catch planes—I was embarrassed to tell my mother I was switching from TV journalism to print reporting just so I could stay closer to home. I didn’t think she’d disapprove, but I did worry I’d deflated or dented the New Role Model. I realize it’s unrealistic to have expected Free to Be to prepare us for the pull between parenting and profession, between feeling accomplished one minute and middling the next. I...