I grew up in an era of social commentary on sitcoms. My early years involved watching Maude talk about feminism and the “Good Times” Evans family discuss racism and poverty. I lived in a diverse urban environment, but it was George Jefferson’s neighbors the Willises who were the first biracial family I can remember seeing on my television. And though much of the topical humor of those classic Norman Lear shows went over my young head, I learned early that characters could be flawed and bungling and say outrageous things over canned laughter and still inhabit the real world of news and politics.

But then came the age of “very special episodes,” of the “Diff’rent Strokes” kids learning awkward lessons about sexual abuse  and Alex P. Keaton getting an alcoholic uncle,  and of  earnest, stand-alone plotlines in otherwise safe, unchallenging shows. Insightful satire seemed to dry up in primetime. And I’m pretty sure that no one ever changed their mind about underage alcohol use because Urkel got drunk. 

Now, however, we are living in a new golden age of sharp, smart — and vastly different — comedies like “Fresh Off the Boat,” “Unbreakable Kimmy Schmidt” and “Transparent,” episodic series that don’t sacrifice their humor when they acknowledge the morally complex world their characters inhabit. And then there is “Black-ish,” which is in a brilliant class all its own.

The series is in many ways a typical family sitcom. The dad is loving but affably mistake prone; the mom is wise and fussy. There are squabbling in-laws. The kids are straight out of the TV tropes playbook — from the cool, eye rolling eldest teen daughter to the adorably underachieving youngest son. There are schemes and deceptions and misunderstandings, and at the end of 30 minutes, everybody seems reasonably happy. The show is also reliably hilarious, thanks in no small part to its top notch cast lead by Anthony Anderson and Golden Globe winner Tracee Ellis Ross. Yet from its first episode, creator Kenya Barris’s comedy has made it clear this show is also here to instruct you, America.

It does so, literally, with lessons, usually courtesy of Anderson’s Andre “Dre” Johnson’s wry narration and historical photos and footage. In the opening moments of the show’s pilot, Dre introduced himself, saying, “I guess for a kid from the hood, I’m living the American dream. The only problem is, whatever American had this dream probably wasn’t where I’m from” and imagined his brood as a”mythical and majestic black family” living in a white neighborhood tourist attraction.

Since then, the show has built episodes around corporal punishment, consumerism, coming out, the N word, masturbation, masculinity, gun control and — again and again — racial identity. And it’s carried its message in unexpected ways. In the first season, Dre’s son Junior made an impassioned “I have a dream” speech — after being asked to bring his snowboard to the back of the bus at a fancy winter resort. “Free to thrash!” he chanted to his fellow passengers. “Thank God almighty we’re free to thrash!” But in last week’s episode, Junior invoked Dr. Martin Luther King’s famous speech again, this time verbatim, at a post election healing rally at his school.