It all started with a Throwback Thursday status update on Facebook. Seconds after I posted a perfectly lovely photo of middle school me playing the cello dressed in purple suede hot pants with a matching vest, my son emerged from his bedroom for the first time in three days and muttered, “I need to move out of this town. That picture is not cool at all, Mom. Not cool.”
Even though no one was holding me down and forcing me to defend my adolescent fashion choices to a teenager, I knew I couldn’t just sit idly and listen to him tarnish the cool image I once worked so hard to attain. “Hey, I’ll have you know that suede hot pants were totally in style back then,” I retorted a little too defensively. He grunted while attempting to devour the entire contents of the refrigerator in four seconds flat. “And I’ll have you know that I was super popular in middle school,” I added for good measure. I didn’t feel he needed to know that I was definitely super popular … with all the other nerdy kids or that one of those nerdy kids had recommended I wear pantyhose and open-toed sandals with those suede shorts, which of course, I did.
While he continued eating, grunting, and believing I was the least cool person he had ever met, I found a box of old photos in the basement. “Look,” I said as I returned to the kitchen and placed a photo in front of him. He groaned. I smiled. In a time when presidents were thrown out of office, peace signs were more prevalent than stop signs, and Madonna was buying her first pointy bra, there I stood in all my glory, next to my locker. I didn’t think there was a single person who could legitimately dispute my obvious coolness in high school. After all, anyone who was anyone back in those days definitely had permed hair, eyeglasses the size of two fried eggs, and a polyester disco shirt.
My son flipped the photo over and pushed it back toward me. “Mom, seriously, I’m eating.”
I pulled out another photo and held it up for his viewing pleasure. “You see this? Here I am before prom with my date, Mike McGoo, star football player.”
My son rolled his eyes. “Nice dress.”
I turned the photo around and admired my baby blue gown with a ruffle that graced the top of my platform shoes. Mike McGoo stood stiffly next to me with a smile plastered on his face that clearly indicated he was ecstatically happy he had chosen the hippest girl in school to attend prom with him.
I sighed as I placed the photo back in the box and closed the lid on my super cool past. I knew there was no convincing him. After all, my parents had once tried to persuade me that they too were super cool. But I knew better. What kind of cool person would ever dream of wearing white bobby socks with a poodle skirt? Or a hat with a business suit? Certainly, I was no dummy, especially when it came to fashion.
“Mom, just promise me, no more Throwback Thursday posts on Facebook, okay?” my son begged as I walked out of the kitchen.
I turned around and nodded. I didn’t feel he needed to know that I had my fingers crossed under that box of photos. That’s the kind of thing super cool people do, just in case you were wondering.
By Vicky DeCoster, All Rights Reserved