If you watched CBS’ The Class last night or last week, you may have wondered about the lack of diversity among the reuniting alumni from a Philadelphia grade school. We thought we spotted a couple of black kids in the old class photos. As it turns out, one of them emerged to send his old playground pals an (entirely fictional) open letter, which PopWatch is reprinting below.
To my former Class-mates:
Hey guys, I don’t know if you remember me from Mrs. Klinger’s third grade class. My name is Ferrell Dorfman. My picture is right above Ethan Haas’ in the school yearbook — and in the opening credits, for that matter. (You can see me about 1:29 into this promo clip from the show. I was one of only two black kids in the whole class, if that helps.) Anyway, I was thrilled to hear that Ethan was marrying Joanne Richmond from that year and even more psyched to find out that he was getting us all together to celebrate their engagement.
Granted, I didn’t know many of you that well back then. I guess that’s what happens when, at such a young age, your mother sticks you on an ugly, yellow bus every morning and ships you off to a strange neighborhood 45 minutes away where all the kids already seem to know each other and share cultural references and an economic background that couldn’t possibly be more foreign to you. A kid could have trouble adapting and end up being called ”difficult” by everyone from the principal to the lunch lady. But, hey, that’s water under the bridge.
After so many years, we’re all pretty much strangers now, right? So I was really looking forward to reuniting and seeing how our lives have diverged, and quite possibly converged. Needless to say, I was more than a little disappointed when I found that I had actually missed the party Ethan threw. It was an unfortunate, totally understandable case of not being invited. I blame myself.
Anyhoo, I hear that several of you have begun new friendships,rekindled old relationships, and will likely be getting together on amore or less regular basis, say, every Monday night at 8, before How I Met Your Mother.That sounds sooo cool to me, and in the hopes of being included beforeyou all get
cancelled too busy, I thought I’d write thisletter catching you up briefly on where I’ve been these past years.
In junior high, like many people from our generation, I endured my parents’splitting up. (Divorce: it’s not a black thing or a white thing; it’s a brokenhome thing) I was a typical teenager, experimenting with cigarettes,alcohol, and other things that I can refer to vaguely yet hilariouslyduring our many spirited conversations to come. I also datedinterracially in college, so I’m totally down to hook up with whoever’snot yet paired off, or may find themselves single in seasons to come –especially the blonde hottie, Nicole. Yowza! (I can also never mentionrace or ethnicity ever again if that would make everyone morecomfortable.)
These days, I’m an executive at a record label, which makes mecool, but totally responsible. We handle some rap, but nothing toothreatening, I assure you. And, boy, do I know a lot of greatnightclubs we could go to when we get tired of sitting around in eachothers’ apartments or at the coffeeshop nearby. My hobbies are tennis,drinking lattes in the middle of the day, overhearing andmisinterpreting answering machine messages, and watching reality TV. (Istill can’t believe that Omarosa — what a bi-atch!) Of course, myfavorite all-time television show is Friends, which, in a lot of ways, reminds me of our little group. But they’ll never have the diversity we have — right, guys? Call me.