This commercial for a brand of peanut butter I only half-remember from my childhood is a freakish snapshot of how things were, or at least how things were supposed to be. Witness the perplexed look on the mother’s face, her buck teeth jutting out of her pouty mouth like a cartoonish beaver. She nods, smiles slightly because that’s what you’re supposed to do when a man tells you what to do, even if that man is a stranger with unkept hair, dressed like a pedophiliac Robin Hood. The children too, behave properly, tearing into the sandwich with approving gusto, exaggerated nods of approval as he knocks over pots and pans on the counter to make his escape. This was the 70s, my friends; let us remember, so it never happens again.