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Don't call me a "Generation X-er". I am a child of the seventies and the eighties. That is what I prefer to be called. The nineties can do without me. Grunge isn't here to stay, fashion is fickle and "Generation X" is a myth created by some over-40 writer trying to figure out why people wear flannel in the summer. When I got home from school, I played with my Atari 2600. Floppy disks were actually floppy. I spent hours playing Pitfall or Combat or Breakout or Dodge'em Cars or Frogger. I never did beat Asteroids. Then I watched Scooby Doo. Fred was a God, and I thought Shaggy was smoking something synthetic in the back of their psychedelic van. I hated Scrappy!!
I would sleep over at friend's houses on the weekends. I got up on Saturday mornings at 6 a.m. to watch bad Hanna-Barbera cartoons. At the movies, the Nerds got revenge on the Alpha Betas by teaming up with the Omega Mus. I watched Indiana Jones save the Ark of the Covenant, and wondered what Yoda meant when he said, "No, there is another."
Ronald Reagan was cool. Gorbachev was the guy who built a McDonalds in Moscow. And the Japanese were taking over. My family took summer vacations to the Gulf of Mexico and we collected Muppet Movie glasses along the way. I listened to John Cougar Mellencamp sing about Little Pink Houses for Jack and Diane. I was bewildered by Boy George and the colors of his dreams, red, gold, and green. MTV actually played videos. Nickelodeon played "You Can't Do That on Television" and "Dangermouse', and HBO showed Mike Tyson pummel everybody except Robin Givens. After watching "Back to the Future", I wanted to skateboard, although I really only learned that one trick. After watching "Breakin'" and "Breakin' Two: The Electric Boogaloo", my friends and I would gather together with some linoleum after school to watch the guys break dance to the sounds of Grand-Master Flash, L.L. Cool J. (when he was real), and Kool Moe Dee. We all stood in line for hours to see "Indiana Jones and the Temple of Doom" for the eighth time, the irst month it came out. Remember how gross the scene with the beating heart was, the frozen monkey brains, "Dr. Jones, it sounds like we walking on fortune cookies!"
I drank Dr. Pepper. "I'm a Pepper, you're a Pepper, wouldn't you like to be a Pepper, too?" Shasta was for losers. TAB was a laboratory accident, and I failed the Pepsi Challenge. Capri Sun was a social statement. Orange juice wasn't just for breakfast anymore, and bacon had to move over for something meatier. My mom put a thousand Little Debbie Snack Cakes in my Charlie's Angels lunch box, and filled my Thermos with Quik. I would never eat the snack cakes, though. Did anyone? I got two thousand cheese and cracker snack packs, and I ate those. I went to school and had recess. I went to the same classes everyday. Some weird guy from the eighth grade always won the science fair with the working hydro-electric plant that leaked on my project about music and plants.
Field day was bigger than Christmas, but it always managed to rain just enough to make everybody miserable. Burping was cool. Rubber band fights were cooler. A substitute Teacher was a marked woman. Nobody deserved that torture. The world Stopped when the Challenger exploded. And everybody was talking bout Haley's Comet (which I never saw!). Half of your friends' parents got divorced. People did not just say "no" to drugs. AIDS started, but you knew more people who had a grandparent die from cancer.
When you put all this stuff together, you have my childhood. If this stuff sounds familiar, then I bet you are one, too. We are children of the eighties. That is what I prefer "they" call us. We are the children of the Eighties. We are not the first "lost generation" nor today's lost generation; in fact, we think we know just where we stand. We are the ones who played with Lego Building Blocks when they were just building blocks. Big Wheels had E-brakes for spinning out, and bicycles came with streamers and that was the only way to go. Side-walk chalk was all you needed to build a city. Imagination was the key. It made the Ewok Treehouse big enough for you to be Luke Skywalker. Your world was the backyard and it was all you.
Michael Jackson's red jacket and his one glove were the stylish clothing. We hold strong affections for The Muppets and The Gummy Bears, and why did they take the Smurfs off the air? After school specials were only about cigarettes and step-families. The Pokka Dot Door was nothing like Barney, and aren't the Power Rangers just Voltron reincarnated?
We are the ones who still read Nancy Drew and the Hardy Boys, The Bobbsey Twins, Beverly Clearly, Judy Blume, Richard Scary and the Electric Company. And what about the A-Team and Knight Rider? Friendship bracelets were ties you couldn't break and Friendship pins went on shoes - preferably hightop Velcro Reeboks. And pegged jeans were in, as were Units belts and layered socks and jean jackets and Jams. And charm necklaces and side pony tails and just tails. Rave was a girl's best friend; braces with colored rubber-bands made you cool.
Gloria Vanderbilt, Chic, and Jordache blue-jeans were the style. The back door was always open and Mom served only red Kool-Aid to the neighborhood kids - never drank New Coke. Entertainment was cheap and lasted for hours. The Sit'n'Spin always made you dizzy but never made you stop. Pogoballs were dangerous weapons, and Chinese Jump Ropes never failed to trip someone. In your Underoos you were Wonder Woman or Spider Man or R2D2. In the Eighties, nothing was wrong. Did you know the president was shot? Star Wars was not only a movie. Did you ever play in a bomb shelter? Did you see the Challenger explode or feed the homeless man? We forgot Vietnam and watched Tiananman's Square on CNN and bought pieces of the Berlin Wall at the store. In the Eighties, we redefined the American Dream, and those years defined us. We are the generation in between strife and facing strife and not turning our backs. The Eighties may have made us idealistic, but it's that idealism that will push us and be passed on to our children the first children of the twenty-first century. If this is familiar, you are one of us...
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