Monday, September 26, 2011
This afternoon I happened to be visiting with a handful of girlfriends, reminiscing about the "Good Ol' Days"... the 80's, that is. Our conversation began when I complimented one of my friends on the bright orange shirt she was wearing at church yesterday. She said how much she loved orange, and I immediately concurred... that, however, has not always been the case. As a child, I thought orange was among the ugliest hues on the color wheel. I couldn't believe that anyone would ever admit outright that it was their favorite color. This afternoon as I considered this childhood prejudice, I suddenly realized from whence it sprang... the 70's!
How could a teenager of the 80's have ever appreciated the rusty oranges and pea greens of a decade gone by? Oh, and let's not forget the mustard gold. (You will more fully appreciate the picture I am trying to paint if you will envision the aforementioned colors in SHAG.) On the other hand, I do have fond and vivid memories of my Grandma Wallentine sitting in her glider rocker, crocheting countless afghans and hot pads, all with at least two things in common: orange and brown.
Fast forward to today.
Now I love the color orange, especially the shades that I look good in--which, I might add, does not include the shade of the 2006 St. George marathon shirt. Just thought I would mention that. Orange Gerber daisies are my favorite. Orange is such a bright, happy, alive color! How could anyone NOT like it?
After my little epiphany regarding my former disdain for a color that had never really done anything to me, we moved on to weightier matters of a decade: Fashion. That subject led us very naturally to the subject of the 80's. I was never in fashion. Gerbeau jeans came up, and honestly, I have only heard of them. I couldn't pick them out of a lineup, and I can't picture the tag across the front. I was impressed that I spelled the brand name right when I Google searched them a minute ago.
The closest I ever came to being in style in the 80's was wearing a collared shirt with matching socks. I couldn't even bring myself to wear the collar up in back--outside of my bedroom, that is--for fear of someone thinking that I thought I looked cool. Banana clips played a significant role in my 8th grade year. Every day I would pull back one side of my hair with a banana clip (always careful to match my shirt and socks), and every day a girl in my AP History class would "fix" it so that it faced the right direction (!?). She may have viewed her service as payment for my answers on each day's assignment. (Never mind that my B+ was the lowest grade in the class. Go figure.) But now that I think about it, her services didn't come to an end when I quit providing answers, so she must have been doing it out of the goodness of her heart... should that make me feel better?
ANYWAY, after this walk down memory lane, I made my exit. As I walked home, I continued to consider the era of my life spent in junior high and I wondered, "If my teen years were made into a movie, would it be a comedy or a tragedy?" Perhaps that would depend if the audience consisted of my adolescent self or my adult self. Perspective is everything.