Growing Up Gay in the Glow of ’70s and ’80s TV

How Cartoons, Sitcoms, and Misfits Taught Me Courage, Magic, and Belonging.

A few days ago, or maybe weeks ago (insert eye roll here), someone posted the question, “What TV shows did you watch as a kid?”

I couldn’t get it out of my head.

At first, I thought I could nail my response in a single paragraph. Ha! One paragraph couldn’t possibly hold afterschool havens, Saturday morning cartoon marathons, or convey the image of me sitting criss-cross applesauce with a peanut butter and jelly sandwich on white bread in front of the TV. That was the essential fuel of any serious TV explorer. Those worlds I lost myself in for hours deserved a novel, not a sentence.

Me, sitting in front of the fireplace, watching TV and eating Jiffy Pop. Upstate New York, circa 1972.

For me television wasn’t just background noise; it was magic. A portal to places my real life hadn’t quite invented yet. As a gay kid growing up in the ’70s and early ’80s, those flickering boxes weren’t mere entertainment, they were my escape hatches. They were my secret sanctuaries, where I could glimpse characters who carried the same strangeness I felt inside, the queerness I couldn’t yet name, only theirs was met with laughter or love instead of shame. In those characters, I found something language hadn’t given me yet: a sense of belonging.

I caught it in Samantha’s twitching nose on Bewitched, in the goofy disguises of Bugs Bunny, the motley chosen family chaos of Scooby-Doo, and in the eternally stranded misfits of Gilligan’s Island (five-hour tour, my ass!). Even The Six Million Dollar Man felt like a queer parable of transformation, resilience, and becoming more than anyone expected. Or maybe I was simply craving a narrative I didn’t have words for yet. None of those characters waved rainbow flags (though I’ve always kept a side-eye on the Fred and Shaggy thing), but their magic, mischief, and quirky otherness mirrored the bits of me tucked away under layers of “don’t ask, don’t tell.”

Looking back, those shows taught me how to imagine, to play, and most importantly, to believe. They sparked the kind of creativity and resilience that still burns within me. They reminded me that joy and magic are not just childhood perks, and that the right stories tip-toe into teaching us to be brave in a world that’s often too big or just plain mean.

Television didn’t just entertain me—it saved me. It showed me possibility, connection, and the quiet comfort of being seen, even when the world outside my living room window wasn’t quite ready for me.

Years later, shows like Will & Grace and Glee threw queerness into the spotlight, shouting about our fabulousness in ways I’d only glimpsed as a kid. Yet sometimes, even now, it feels like those stories are getting shoved back into the shadows, whispered about behind closed doors, asked to not be visible. But if history’s taught me anything, it’s this: we find our way out. We always do. Because television, like us, is magic, it survives. Joy survives.

And so do we.

So, which stories set your imagination free?

—David

*Correction: As Mr. Troy Ford reminded me, the S.S. Minnow set out on a three-hour tour, not five. Small boat, big waves, I must have hit my head. 🤣

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