CULVER CITY, Calif. — Sitting in his office, Adam Goldberg, creator of the ABC sitcom “The Goldbergs,” had the impish grin of a kid in a toy store. Mostly because Goldberg’s office, on the Sony Pictures lot here, is filled, corner to corner, with toys.

“The Transformers are all over here,” he said, giving a tour recently. “These are all GoBots, they’re like the Kmart Transformers.” He showed off his Atari Tron joystick, “Back to the Future” hoverboard and Wonder Woman invisible jet: a package with a clear plastic outline of a plane, filled with nothing. “That’s a real toy, a real Hot Wheels toy!” he hooted. “I won’t tell you how much I spent on it. Totally worth it.”

Many of the toys date to Goldberg’s childhood in suburban Philadelphia in the 1980s, as does his TV series, a family show set in “1980-something.” It’s stuffed with that decade’s pop culture detritus — Reebok Pumps, Garbage Pail Kids, Atari — and its power ballads, such as Toto’s “Africa.”

“This is truly why ‘The Goldbergs’ works,” said Doug Robinson, an executive producer, as Goldberg showed off a pricey Japanese robot that his wife bought him when his childhood original broke. “This is the stuff that he’s passionate about. All the things he had growing up are just reflected in the show.”

In its second season, “The Goldbergs” has built a solid following — and increasing ratings — by adhering to a formula now little seen on TV. It’s not a talk-to-the-camera mockumentary (à la “Modern Family,” which follows “The Goldbergs” on Wednesday nights), a reality-show spoof or an arch, cynical comedy. Instead, it’s a proud throwback built on nostalgia — for the era and for the sitcom tradition. Goldberg cites the “The Wonder Years” as an inspiration and his own family as the model: Each episode ends with some home video of the real Goldberg clan, circa 1980-something, when young Adam obsessively videotaped everything.

“We got one of the first cameras,” Goldberg, 38, said. By 7, he was making movies with his friends. He used his camera as a diary and recorded fights between his older brothers, Barry and Eric. His mother, Beverly, saved hundreds of cassettes: endless source material.

After Goldberg and Robinson’s last show, the hacker comedy “Breaking In,” ended, they shopped “The Goldbergs” with a home video reel. “What sold me on it was the footage of this family screaming at each other over Thanksgiving dinner,” said Wendi McLendon-Covey, who plays Beverly, scripted as a classic overbearing “smother.” “I thought, ‘This is gold.’”

The series has softened from Goldberg’s original vision, an exposé of his dysfunctional family. Now, most episodes close with a hug and a lesson learned. “This isn’t edgy,” Goldberg said. For him, it functions as wish fulfillment, a way to relive childhood but with the closure — and the toys — he always wanted.

Sean Giambrone plays 11-year-old Adam as a nerd in the days before that could confer of social cool. (Patton Oswalt narrates as the adult Adam, looking back.) Eric has become Erica (Hayley Orrantia), while Barry (Troy Gentile) retains his luggish adolescent charms. George Segal is the grandfather, Pops, a martini-guzzling ladies’ man; and comedian Jeff Garlin is the father, Murray, emotionally remote and shouty but working on it.

The show’s wardrobe has authentic ’80s pedigree: the real Beverly sent McLendon-Covey a box of her old spangled sweaters. (“My mom is a pack rat,” her son noted. “She wants them all back.”) The costumers hoard shoulder pads and scout acid-washed denim. McLendon-Covey looked to Jazzercise to inspire her physical comedy.

Besides being a pop culture wormhole, this show about a Jewish family also fits within ABC’s diverse programming efforts, with series such as “Black-ish.” Though Jewish characters are common on TV, a series focusing on a Jewish family is about a once-a-decade phenomenon, said Vincent Brook, author of “Something Ain’t Kosher Here: The Rise of the ‘Jewish’ Sitcom.” (“The Goldbergs” was also the name of a 1950s TV comedy.) This series, Brook added, filled a niche. Amid a TV landscape of grim news and cable antiheroes, “there’s a craving for something a little lighter and encouraging and optimistic.”

Goldberg’s own family members are fans. His brothers have visited the set, suggesting a change to the children’s photos that hang over the parents’ bed. (Adam, the youngest, always had the biggest portrait.)

Goldberg is also open to ideas from other people in his past. This season, his high school drama teacher pitched a plotline and earned a story credit. Still, he will not let anyone else edit the home videos that have become the show’s signature. In small doses, they’re cute, he said. “But when you sit down and watch, like, 10 minutes, you’re, like, this is a weird lonely kid, a weird lonely geek who loves his camera.”

“I wasn’t a sweet kid,” he added. “I was an instigator, and provoked everyone with my goofy hyena cackle, loving every minute of the drama I could create.”