That’s Not So Raven

By ARCHER THOMAS Feb. 23, 2018

Like most people, when something exceptional or peculiar happens in my daily life, I tend to ask myself “Is that so Raven?” While you can imagine the circumstances that would warrant an affirmative response, I am occasionally struck by a distinct sense that the answer to this essential question is “No. That’s not so Raven.”

I often look at my own reflection in puddles and think, “Now that is not so Raven.” I would be hard-pressed to describe certain aspects of my life as “Raven-esque.” Raven’s character on That’s So Raven lives in San Francisco, whereas I live in Maine, a place with a much more cosmopolitan atmosphere. Raven is a sassy black woman, and I’m a stringy white boy who apologizes profusely when someone bumps into me. Unlike Raven, my mother didn’t mysteriously disappear after the third season. In fact, it’s probably safe to say that I share very few similarities with Raven Baxter. I’m not even a Baxter affiliate.

On the other hand, I feel a deep affinity for Raven’s awkward but endearingly overweight younger brother, Corey. I’m only twelve, I’m emotionally dependent on my pet rat, and whenever Irene swipes me in at Moulton I whisper “Cha-Ching!” under by breath. Also, I live at the White House. Sue me.

Or maybe I’m getting this all wrong. Maybe I shouldn’t evaluate my life through the lens of Disney Channel sitcoms from the 2000s. Just kidding, that’s not so Raven.

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