Read Here's the Story LP: Surviving Marcia Brady and Finding My True Voice for Free Online Page B

for the TV special. Each of us was supposed to ask President Nixon a question. We rehearsed them before arriving at the White House and we continued to practice as we waited for the president.
    Then President Nixon entered the room. I remember thinking he looked exactly as he did on TV, something people probably said about me. He wore a suit and tie and appeared to be relaxed and friendly, though he still seemed stiff. I assumed he had been briefed about our questions and had prepared answers. I said that I was concerned about the state of the world and I wondered what kind of shape he thought it would be in when I was old enough to vote. Then one of the other kids asked him to name the first president of the United States. Nixon replied, “Abraham Lincoln.”
    What?
    I quickly glanced at my mother and the welfare worker/teacher from the show, Frances Whitfield, who had accompanied me on the trip and were standing off to the side. Other nervous glances were exchanged.
    Then President Nixon realized his error and said, “Oh my gosh, no. It was George Washington.”
    All of us laughed. It proved that presidents, as Art Linkletter might’ve said if that slip had been shown on TV, also say the darnedest things.
    The last show of the first season was “The Possible Dream.” In it, Marcia loses her diary, in which she has written about her dream of becoming Mrs. Desi Arnez Jr. Desi guested on the episode, and, oh my God, he was so cute. I didn’t have to act when I said I had a crush on him.
    Then the first season was finished. I hated saying good-bye even though I knew we would be back for another season. My eyes were full of tears as my mother and I drove away from the Paramount lot. The following week I was supposed to return to regular school for the remaining two months of the school year. That also meant returning to my real life as Maureen, not Marcia—and I wasn’t sure that was a good thing.

Marcia, Marcia, Marcia!
    I felt out of place returning to Hughes Junior High for the last few months of eighth grade. I wasn’t interested in schoolwork, and I felt out of step socially. I had friends, but there was still the problem of feeling on display. Other girls stared, and I heard comments about my clothes. People whispered behind my back as if I didn’t have ears. Look, she’s the one who plays Marcia Brady.
    I used to go through the day wishing I was back on the set, and then, when I was at home, I wished I was someplace else. Mostly I wished I was more like my brother Mike, older and living on my own. When he had returned from Europe the previous year, my parents told me that he had to pay rent unless he went back to school. He turned into a dynamo of ambition, enrolling in UCLA, getting a job in their film and TV department, and managing an apartment building.
    I envied his independence. At home, I resented my parents for ruining my comfort and the trust I’d had in them. They had a difficult time recovering from my father’s affair. He openly resented my mother, and she had major trust issues that she didn’t try to conceal. Since nobody talked about these problems, I was left to figure them out for myself. It caused me to look at my home life in a different, more critical light. Maybe I compared my family too closely with the Bradys’, but I knew things at home were kind of weird, definitely not normal, and I blamed my mother.
    She didn’t cook or clean—nor did she have an Alice to do it for her like Carol Brady did. She wouldn’t spend money or throw anything out. We had stacks of newspapers and magazines throughout the house. I hated the mess. I didn’t want to bring friends home or invite anyone to sleep over. Why didn’t anyone else care?
    My mother was on top of things in other ways that I wouldn’t know about or understand for years. For all her worrying, or perhaps because of it, she was an astute businesswoman, with an especially sharp eye for real estate. After stretching my father’s