It’s getting close to Christmas, so I’ll admit that I know next to nothing about the Family Partridge. Then why, you ask, do I have their Christmas Card album? I can’t logically answer that. Oh, sure, I could offer you a string of hypothetical and misleading lies as to how and / or why I acquired this frolicking little collection of easy listening holiday nuggets of someone else’s nostalgia, but like I said, Christmas is coming, and I’ll be damned if I’m going to fib this close to the big day.
So instead, I’ll (quickly) offer up what I THINK the Partridge Family is based on their (pear) tree decorating Christmas photo. So, you’ve got mom, who looks awful close in age to her son, David Cassidy, who ripped out, broke, and set fire to the hearts of adolescent girls the world over, then you’ve got big sister who has a giant goiter on her neck, and is constantly covering it up while pretending to play with her hair, then you got the little ones. The red headed kid I know was heavy into drugs, and is excited for, what I assume, was a neatly wrapped imported bong, while the others, probably neighbor kids, look at this glass flute in youthful amazement. A few questions… where’s dad? How old was mom when she had little David? Did dad die? Oh! Did mom shoot him for leaving her with five bratty kids?! Maybe the goiter on big sister’s neck is instead a defensive gunshot wound when drunken dad attempted to off the entire family! That might be a little racy for the 70s, especially on primetime television. I could just as easily head on over to the interwebs to verify this hypothetical assessment of this (dys) functional family, but instead, I’ll enjoy this sunshine popsicle album and imagine, all day, what the hell happened to dad.