Wednesday, September 30, 2015

The Art of Fangirling - Part II

A solitary bead of sweat, or possibly a tear, slid down her cheek, cutting a path in the heavy makeup that had been applied with great care.

“I’m more nervous right now than I was on my wedding day!” she panted.

Her voice rose and fell, rolling and uneven, teetering on the very edge of something more than what she could contain. 

Her thickly-lined eyes darted back and forth, frantically searching for the object of her affection.

“Rick is like, my life.”

She clung to her cup of water as a life preserver, a buoy in the storm of her frenzy.


Rick Springfield has an incredible connection with his devoted fans of over three decades, as documented in the film, An Affair of the Heart.  Some of these women (and men!) have unbelievable stories of how his music changed their lives.

And it’s a two-way street. In the film, Rick admits that performing used to be all about himself, but now it’s his way of connecting with people.  

He strives to make himself truly accessible to his fans.

And as with anything, you have to take the good with the bad.


There are varying degrees of Fangirls.

Level 1: Devotion and loyalty, with an appropriate level of excitement; all faculties and brain function clearly intact.

Level 2: Level 1, plus propensity for temporary episodes of Head in the Clouds, but with no long term negative effects.

Level 3: Levels 1 & 2, plus a disconcerting break from rational thinking regarding the subject. Abandons social norms and begins to lose touch with the reality of daily life.

I would say that I fall somewhere between Levels 1 and 2 (more like 2 after I’ve recently made contact with the subject). 

But you have not experienced the high-functioning psychosis of which the human brain is capable until you’ve seen a Level 3 Rick Springfield fan.

Code Red.


Having tossed her cup of water aside, her hands were free to shake with the ferocity of a junkie coming down off a high. 

Except that she was about to get her fix.

She fumbled with her belongings and sputtered nervously to my friend, who happened to be directly in front of her in the Meet and Greet line.

“I need you to record me getting my picture taken with Rick, ok?”

“Um. Ok. Sure.” said Friend.

“This may be the most important thing you ever do, ok?”

“Wow. That’s a lot of pressure.” said Friend.

We exchanged a secret eye roll and a quiet snicker.

Who was this woman? Did she have a family? A life?

She regaled us with accounts of how many concerts she’d been to, how many times she’d met Rick, etc.

This meeting was of the utmost importance to her, as she’d had “fat surgery” since the last time she saw him.  Her words, not mine.

In one instance, she’d hurt her leg climbing over chairs to get to Rick at a concert. She went to the doctor, who mistakenly wrote on her chart that she’d injured herself at a Bruce Springsteen concert.

She was infuriated and demanded that her medical record be corrected.

On another occasion, she met Rick in Corpus Christi, in 102 degree heat. She hugged him, got his sweat on her shirt, and has saved said shirt in a Ziploc bag to this day.

At another fan’s tale of woe at missing part of the show when nature called, she scoffed, “I don’t worry about incontinence at Rick’s shows. That’s why I always wear black. I had to apologize to the guy behind me at the last show.”


Two ladies who appeared to be hovering somewhere between Levels 2 and 3 donned matching black tank tops that touted, “I’m Jessie’s Girl” and “No, I’m Jessie’s Girl.”  

A third woman joined them later to complete the trio with “Forget Jessie’s Girl, I’m Sylvia” which I was told only Super Fans would get.

I didn’t get it.


The concert was starting, and I spotted Code Red in the front row, our seats directly behind her. I made a mental note to be on the lookout for any suspicious puddles.

She made it clear to everyone around her that if any guitar picks were thrown into the audience, they were hers. No questions asked.  

And we all nodded our heads in agreement, because although I’m sure she’s a lovely person when she’s not acting crazy, this is not a woman you want to throw down with over a tiny piece of plastic.

From the moment Rick took the stage until the last chord was played, she made it her mission to get his attention.  At one point in the show, once he really began to sweat under the lights and Texas heat, she threw him a tissue, presumably to mop his brow.

He jokingly blew his nose with it and tossed it back to her. She snapped up the tissue and began to rub it all over her face.

And true to her promise (or threat, depending upon how you took it), each time he threw a guitar pick into the audience, she reacted like a Hunger Games tribute vying for the last backpack of supplies at the Cornucopia.


I’ve thought about this woman over the last few days and wondered how she’s getting along.  How she’s handling the Day-after-Christmas letdown now that the big event is in the past. 

Is she sad?  Is she tormented?  Is she already plotting her next encounter with Rick?

I’ve also thought about Rick, and whether or not these people freak him out.

Yes, he enjoys making a connection with his fans.  But would you want to be groped by perfect strangers on a daily basis?  

Code Red was practically foaming at the mouth as she rubbed all over him at the Meet and Greet. He joked that she was literally “vibrating” when she touched him.

At one point during the concert when he ventured to the edge of the stage, she made a grab for his leg and continued to go exploring quite a bit higher up than was publicly appropriate.

How would we react if that was a male feeling up a female performer?

I think it would make us uncomfortable.

And I can assure you that this made us uncomfortable, too.  

I sympathize with her Fangirl heart, but I can’t quite wrap my mind around the extreme to which she pushes it.

For me, it's more of an innocent connection.  Rick and his music take me back to a defining point in life: the very last time that I remember being a kid. 

Riding bikes in the heat of the summer. Calling in to radio stations to request songs. Secretly playing with Barbie dolls.  Sneaking peeks at soap operas on tv. Puppy love. 

Acting all grown up and then reverting back to childish tendencies.

Rick brings me back to that girl I once was, before things got so complicated.  

And although I hope I won’t be publicly embarrassing myself in a Code Red manner, I will always be a devoted fan hovering somewhere between Levels 1 and 2.

After all, I give my heart and soul to my family on a daily basis. And I wouldn’t trade it for the world, this wonderful life of mine.

But sometimes it’s just plain fun to take a trip to Cloud 9 with Rick every now and again.

I promise, I’ll always come back.

In case you missed last week, you can read about my experience meeting Rick Springfield in The Art of Fangirling - Part I.

Thursday, September 24, 2015

The Art of Fangirling - Part I

It was a blistering ninety-five degrees on a Tuesday afternoon in September in The Woodlands, Texas, and my friend and I arrived at the gate of the venue with our VIP passes in hand.

As is our custom, we moved mountains to get ourselves there, putting my adorable husband on carpool duty for all four kids.

One never knows who you might encounter at these things, but after seeing the documentary, An Affair of the Heart, about Rick Springfield’s Super Fans, I was anticipating some interesting characters.

And we were surely not disappointed.

Most of those stories will be told in Part II next week, as there are too many words for today.  As crazy a fan as I might seem to some people, I am nowhere near the level of rabid zealotry that some of these ladies possess.

As we made our way up to the stage to watch the sound check, I felt a little wave of excitement when we came around the corner and saw Rick and his band on stage rehearsing.

There’s just something that rock stars have that the rest of us don’t. 

A magnetic force-field that sucks you in and mesmerizes you. 

You know, when you’re an almost forty-five year old mom whose days mostly consist of grocery shopping, doing laundry, and dealing with kids, this was exactly the kind of shock to the system I needed to break me out of my rut.

As we were watching the sound check, Joey, Rick’s assistant, started passing around a yellow pad of sticky notes, and I could see a woman writing her name and what looked like numbers down and passing it to the next person.  

So, I followed suit (I thought) and wrote my name and number down on the sticky note on top. 

I handed it back to Joey, and he gave me sort of a strange look and said, “You can keep that.”

I showed my friend what I’d done, and she started dying laughing.

“You’re trying to slip your phone number to Rick Springfield!” she howled. 

“You’re supposed to just put your name, so he’ll know what to write when he signs your picture.”


Geez, how embarrassing.  No wonder Joey looked at me like I was crazy. I bet he gets this ALL THE TIME.

But no time to fret, because it was my turn to meet Rick and have my picture taken. Take a deep breath, relax, act natural, I told myself. He's just a normal person.

And I must look super normal to him compared to some of these other fans.  I don’t have his face tattooed on my leg, and I’m not shaking or crying. 

I sidled up to him, expecting the prerequisite “I don’t really want to hug you but I have to” arm loosely slung around my shoulders. But what I got was this:


When he grabbed me and pulled me in close, I instantaneously saw all my girlhood images of him flash before my eyes: 

The pinup from Tiger Beat 1982 (can I just add how disturbing it is that I, a 12 year old, had a picture of a 30-something man on my wall?):

My first love!

Getting dropped off at the Preston Royal movie theater in Dallas in 1984 to see Hard to Hold (again, my mother let me see this movie, given this was the promotional poster??):


Rick on the cover of Dynamite, the Scholastic magazine (since he's so, um, scholastic):

I remember this one sooo well.

Rick adorned my preteen walls, in the company of Scott Baio, Dirk Benedict (from Battlestar Gallactica), Leif Garrett, Shaun Cassidy, and Parker Stevenson (Hardy Boys):

Heartthrobs of the '80s

Dr. Noah Drake on General Hospital:

I wanted to be a nurse because of him.

Ahh, such happy memories from the decade of extreme excess.

He signed a picture of himself for me, plus my copy of Magnificent Vibration, a novel he wrote recently that has garnered some great reviews, and I told him I was looking forward to reading it.  He said he hoped I’d enjoy it and thanked me for coming.

It was a very pleasant but short experience.  Not life changing, but somehow bringing me full circle with the girl I once was, full of hopes, dreams, and innocent fantasies.

It was an experience I’ll probably never get to replicate, and one I’ll always remember.

I think the thing about turning forty-five is that you realize that shit is getting real.  

I see too many cases of illness and misfortune around me. I know that my life is no longer a vast, never-ending open road in front of me, but more a path with an end in sight.

So maybe this is a midlife crisis, or maybe it’s just a realization that this is the only life I’m going to get, so I better step it up.  Either way, I intend to kick into high “bucket list” mode.

Given my ‘80s music junkie tendencies, I plan to meet as many more of these lovelies as I can.

The ones that are still alive, that is.

Duran Duran, I’m coming for you next!

Coming soon: The Art of Fangirling – Part II.  You won’t want to miss this glimpse into the world of Rick Springfield Super Fans, who will stop at nothing to get to him.  I’ll give you this teaser now…that puddle on the ground you thought was beer might be something far worse! Tune in to the blog next week for these fun stories and more!

And enjoy this video I took at the concert.  Rick puts on an amazing show and does not disappoint! Check out the rock star move with the roses. And please excuse the poor skills of the videographer. I correct my mistake about ten seconds in…

Friday, September 18, 2015

Times Like These

It’s Times Like These
…you learn to live again
…you give and give again
…you learn to love again
-        Foo Fighters

I schlepped the last heavy box in from the car and dumped it with a thud on the laundry room floor.  Socks spilled over the top of each box onto the tile, and I struggled to put them back with the correct sizes before one got up and walked away, as socks tend to do.

Little Man wandered into the laundry room, chomping on a nectarine, juice running down his chin.

“I can help!”

Normally this would be music to my ears, but sorting three hundred pairs of soccer socks by size and team is no job for a five-year old.

As the sticky little hand reached out to help, I felt a wave of hysteria rise up and explode from my mouth like a geyser:


Truly a Betty Draper parenting moment.

I turned to see his little face crumpled and red, tears running down his cheeks.

He turned and left the room, but not without crying,


My heart dropped, and I let out an exasperated sigh.

“I’ll make it up to him later,” I promised myself, swallowing the lump in my throat, turning back to the task at hand.

After all, people are waiting on me.


I lay awake at 3am pondering the events of the day, trying to convince myself that it would get better soon, that I could handle it, that everything would be ok.  

That someday soon I’ll have time to cook dinner, maybe even tonight!  

Someday soon, the issues will resolve, the problems will be over, people will be happy. 

I try too hard to make people happy. 

I care too much.

About the wrong things.

These little people I brought into the world didn’t ask to be born.  They didn’t ask to be put through This Thing Called Life (thanks, Prince).

They are a gift from God.

The time we have with them, to not screw them up too badly, is short.

Something has to change.

My house is spinning out of control, and I’m the vortex of the storm.

Times like these, you give and give and give.

Times like these, you never get them back.


I rose from the bed, careful not to disturb Husband, peacefully snoring away.  I tiptoed to the kitchen and opened my laptop, wincing at the unwelcome glow of the screen on my tired eyes.

My fingers hovered over the keyboard but then seemed to fill up the blank screen with the words that needed to be said.

Times like these, you learn to live again.


Daughter walked in, seeing me at my standard post behind the computer, and let out an exaggerated sigh.

“What’s up?” I said.

“Let me guess, you’re doing work stuff? Can you check my math homework and see if I did it right?”

“Yep.  And guess what? I won’t be doing this much longer. I quit that job.”

Her face lit up with an ear-to-ear grin.

“Really? I’m so happy!”

“Why are you happy?”

“Because Mom, that job made you really grumpy.  And you took it out on us.”

My jaw dropped as I watched her sashay out of the room, dance bag slung over her shoulder.


In that moment, hearing those words from my daughter, my mother’s heart shattered.

Splinters embedded in the walls of my chest that still jab me when I take an especially deep breath. 

Guilt is a heavy burden to bear.

But today is a new day.

Things are going to be different.     
I’m going to try, and try again.

It’s times like these you learn to love again.

More of this, please!

And who couldn't use a little moonshine? It's the weekend, after all, so join us.

Monday, July 27, 2015

10 Tips for a Mom Traveling Solo

I'm fresh off a highly-coveted girls' weekend in Los Angeles, and I have some tips to help you tackle the rarity of traveling alone, should the stars align and you find yourself in this situation.

As moms, we are generally last on the priority list when packing for travel with our families. We spend days planning and making lists to ensure our kids have everything they'll need to be entertained and happy while away from home.

To that end, you'd think it would be a breeze packing for a solo trip, right? No coloring books, stickers, wipes, or snacks! Freedom!

But all of a sudden, with the focus solely on myself, I realized I had forgotten what I needed, because I was so accustomed to not giving it much thought.

So, here are my tips for solo trip success:

This could be you!
DO wear comfortable, yet cute, shoes for traipsing miles through the airport, as well as sightseeing expeditions once you're where you're going. My favorites are Birkenstocks (I know, I know). But they have really cute ones now, like these and these. Hey, Heidi Klum and Jennifer Garner wear them!

DO pack ear buds in your purse so you can use your phone to listen to music on the plane. Break them out at the first sign of any unpleasant noise, such as other people's crying children, a lady with a hyena laugh, a man with a hacking cough, or a seatmate who appears potentially chatty.

DO NOT forget to bring dollar bills for tipping. I am used to my husband handling this, but I fortunately had a few singles to tide me over until I could get more.

DO treat yourself to your favorite grown-up magazine and beverage of choice. Go ahead and reach for that trashy gossip rag, if that's what floats your boat. I won't tell anyone.

DO NOT forget to put the liquids you usually carry in your purse, like hand sanitizer and lip gloss, in a quart sized baggie to go through security. Since I rarely fly, I totally forgot to do this before leaving home. Luckily, I happened to have a baggie in my purse with a half-eaten kid's snack, so I was able to empty it and use it for my liquids. We moms are nothing if not prepared for anything!

DO bring a sweater, jacket, or blanket because I swear the temp on the airplane once we were in the air was about 55 degrees. You might even consider throwing a pair of socks in your purse if you're wearing sandals because you might notice icicles on your toes.

DO learn how to use Uber, if it's available in the city that you're visiting. Much nicer, and often cheaper, than cabs. Spring for the Black Car service for a night out in style. Your driver might even surprise you with bottled water and mints.

DO all the things you'd never do with kids. Like sleep late, lie by the pool and read a book, see the sights in a leisurely way that would incite whining in kids, and eat at restaurants with non-kid-friendly food, like sushi. Remember, this trip is all about you!

DO carve out a little time before you leave on your trip (impossible, I know!) to research your destination and get a rough idea of what you and your friends would like to do/see while you're there. Much easier to go in with a plan and not have to waste precious vacation time trying to figure out logistics.

DO NOT feel guilty that you have left your family behind for some "me time." You are there for them every day, 24/7, and you deserve a break. I promise that your husband does not feel an ounce of shame when he heads out the door for that concert with friends or a guys' fishing trip.

I hope these tips help you the next time you decide to fly the friendly skies for a fun getaway. We are no good to our families if we don't take the time to recharge our own batteries, and sometimes the only way to do that is to get away from it all.

You officially have my permission to start planning that next girl's trip, so get cracking! And if you have any travel tips to add, I'd love to hear them.

Belly laughs with old friends = batteries recharged

Wednesday, May 13, 2015

Learning to Leave

It’s the end of May, and we’re entering into those last few crazy days of end-of-year this and that.  Most of us feel like we’re screeching towards the finish line, with only three wheels left on the car.

Normally, the end of the school year is a time of reflection for kids, when they say goodbye to this year’s class and start thinking about the next year with new teachers and classmates.

Both my kids will be starting new schools next year, so this end-of-year is particularly significant for us.

My ten-year old said to me, “Mom? I think the last day of school is going to be really hard for me.”

Instinctively, I began to feel all jumpy and started to respond with, “It’ll be OK, honey! Everything will be fine. Try not to think about it!”

I am really not good with goodbyes, and looking back over my own life, I regret the way I handled many a “leaving” situation.

I even began to fantasize about skipping the last day of school altogether, to avoid dealing with all these feelings that she and I will both face.  She’s been at this school for seven years.  This isn’t going to be easy.

And then it dawned on me.

This is a very important teaching opportunity right under my nose.

It is my job, as her parent, to teach her how to leave.


Most human beings I know do not relish change.  We like being happy (or happy enough) in our comfort zones, and taking a risk on something unknown is sometimes too scary to imagine.

But we all do eventually find ourselves in transition mode, whether we want to or not. And even when we are the ones making the choice to leave our current path, it can still be very difficult closing that chapter.

Whether it’s a job, a relationship, or a place, leaving conjures up a bag of mixed emotions that are not always easy to navigate.

Personally, this is one of the things I’ve gotten pretty wrong over the years.

There are boyfriends, roommates, and jobs that I left without even looking in the rear view mirror.

And now that my age has brought some wisdom, I see that I did not handle these situations with grace.

I literally did not know the right way to leave.

So I took the coward’s way out, and stole off in the middle of the night.

But this is my chance to teach my children how it’s done.  Most of the process will be lost on the four-year old, but this is fertile teaching ground for my ten-year old girl.

The plan of attack for Learning to Leave:

Feel the Feelings

You are happy and excited about your new adventure.  You will also feel sad that you are leaving people you care about.  You may even feel regretful and anxious about having to say goodbye.

It is so very important that you allow yourself to fully experience these emotions. Do not try and stuff them down deep inside you to minimize their effect.  Even if your eyes begin to fill with tears, and the back of your throat begins to tickle, don’t fight it.  Let the feelings wash over you.  They won’t kill you.

Express the Feelings

Tell your friends and teachers that you’ll miss them.  Cry and hug them.  Do not be afraid of how you appear to onlookers.  Do not be afraid to “make a scene” or be labeled “emotional.”  You have a right to your feelings and to this experience.

Take a Deep Breath 

This is one of those defining moments that you will probably always remember. Take a mental snapshot.  Muster up every last bit of courage and strength inside of you, because it’s time to close this door.

Treat everyone you encounter today with kindness, regardless of how he or she has treated you, because you never know when you might cross paths with him or her again.

Leave on the highest note possible.

Focus on the Positives

God has put you on a new path that is going to be filled with new and wonderful things. You are doing a hard thing, and you will be rewarded. Nothing ventured, nothing gained. Your true friends will always be your friends, and you will keep in touch with them.

Don’t get swept out so far into the sea of emotions that you can’t see the shore.  You are going to get through this and move on to something better for you.

Go Forward

Dry your eyes and say your goodbyes. Appreciate the experiences and lessons learned here. Hold your head high, chin up, and shoulders back. Walk out with grace and dignity knowing you gave it your best.

Praise God for your blessings.

Most importantly, don’t forget who you are and where you are going.

And as hard as it is, don’t look back.

Wednesday, April 15, 2015

Squeeze the Moment

April 2013 - 2 1/2 years old

Your cheeks will never again be this round

Your lips never this plump and pink

Your skin as soft and smooth as silk when I hug you cheek-to-cheek

Your lashes as lavish as peacock feathers

Your chin so dimpled and sweet

Five little toes I love to count on each of your pudgy feet

Your hair a wispy, velvet mop

Your laugh a boisterous gurgle

Your arms still reach for me to carry you over each hurdle

I know these days are fleeting

And one day you’ll be a man

I squeeze this moment, inhale it deep

Because today, I can

Mama’s Losin’ It

Friday, March 27, 2015

"The Breakfast Club" is All Grown Up: Celebrating 30 Years

I sunk into my seat in the dark theater, relieved to be home free, palms sweaty from the rush of defying authority.

An older friend bought our tickets to see the new movie, The Breakfast Club. The movie was rated “R”, and I was far from seventeen, but there was no way I was going to miss it.

I fidgeted in my seat, crossing right leg over left, Converse high-top bobbing in time to my racing heart.  I dug in the pocket of my Guess jean jacket for the Junior Mints I’d purchased at 7-11.

The opening credits appeared on screen, set to the now infamous song, “Don’t You Forget About Me” by Simple Minds.   A hush fell over the audience as one of the quintessential films of the 1980s opened with a quote from David Bowie’s 1971 song, Changes:

The screen shatters like glass and morphs into an image of Shermer High with this voice over from Anthony Michael Hall (watch it HERE):

Saturday, March 24, 1984. Shermer High School, Shermer, Illinois, 60062. Dear Mr. Vernon, we accept the fact that we had to sacrifice a whole Saturday in detention for whatever it was that we did wrong, what we did was wrong. But we think you're crazy to make us write an essay telling you who we think we are, what do you care? You see us as you want to see us, in the simplest terms and the most convenient definitions. You see us as a brain, an athlete, a basket case, a princess and a criminal. Correct? That's the way we saw each other at seven o'clock this morning.


All of John Hughes’ films spoke to me as an adolescent in the 1980s, but The Breakfast Club truly touched on all of the Big Feelings I was having: peer pressure, fitting in, thoughts about boys, and growing awareness of kids with different or troubling circumstances.

The premise is simple:  five high school kids get thrown together to serve detention on a Saturday, each character a different stereotype one might encounter in the halls of your average high school:  The Athlete (Emilio Estevez), The Basket Case (Ally Sheedy), The Brain (Anthony Michael Hall), The Princess (Molly Ringwald), and The Criminal (Judd Nelson).

The movie follows these kids throughout their day of detainment, threatened by the laughably cruel school principal who instructs them not to talk, move from their seats, or sleep.

The kids, inevitably, break all of these rules and get into mischief.  But in the process, they open up to each other, form unexpected alliances, and eventually realize they have more in common than not.

Heavy stuff comes out.  We learn that The Brain, who appears to be “a parent’s wet dream,” contemplated suicide after getting a bad grade.

The Criminal has a cigar-shaped burn on his forearm as evidence of his troubles at home.  The Athlete is under constant pressure from his father to be The Best.  The Princess is caught in the crossfire of her parents’ marital troubles.  The Basket Case is a compulsive liar.

These personalities connect after hours of chipping away at each other.  But the harsh reality that these common bonds will not be enough to cross the lines of the cliques come Monday morning is a jagged pill which most teenagers are familiar with swallowing.

In 1985, I identified with parts of each of these characters.  As only a teenager could do, I had phased through different personas, like trying on prom dresses in a poorly-lit dressing room, always looking from a different angle and never being satisfied.

Thirty years later, I am still enamored with each of these characters and the stories they have to tell.

And I suppose this is why I can’t help but gather some girlfriends together to catch The Breakfast Club on the big screen one last time to mark the milestone 30th anniversary.


I sunk into my seat in the dark theater, crossing my legs out of habit, then correcting myself, remembering that this is what causes the unsightly spider veins on my legs.

There are no Junior Mints in my pockets, but I’ve brought a gluten-free, 100 calorie treat in case I need a sweet fix in addition to the popcorn I’ve allowed myself. There’s bottled water in my seat’s cup holder, instead of Coca-Cola.  Caffeine triggers my migraines.

This is 44.

But once the movie started, I felt like a kid again.  I dutifully laughed at Principal Vernon right up until the scene where he and The Criminal go head-to-head, and The Criminal ends up with two months of detention.

At that point, I slid back into parent mode and recalled a similar exchange recently between me and my tween daughter.

I did not use the “you mess with the bull, you’ll get the horns” line, but now I have that in my back pocket for next time.


When did I become the uncool, pain-in-the-ass adult in the scenario?

Watching this movie as a grown-up really does have its advantages, though.

Top parenting takeaways?

Don’t talk down to kids & treat them like jerks, or you’ll end up like the Barry Manilow wardrobe-raided idiot principal.

Teenagers are balled-up tangled webs of emotions walking around begging to be heard and understood, yet shooting off at us like firecrackers for even daring to try. We must persevere, lest our kids feel ignored, which according to Ally Sheedy’s character is the worst.

Times really have not changed that much, and all the pressure kids feel to perform academically, socially, and athletically is not really a 2015 thing.  It was a 1985 thing, too.

Watching The Breakfast Club is every parent’s dream come true. How often do we long to get inside our kids’ heads? It all comes flooding back…the uncertainty, the insecurity, the angst…it is all very real, and I never want to forget what that feels like.

In three short years, my daughter will be a teen.  If she ever accuses me with, “Mom, you just don’t understand!”

I want to be able to say, “Yes. Yes, I do understand what you’re going through.”

And I want to really mean it.

The Breakfast Club was one of the first movies that took teen’s emotions seriously and validated their struggles, which allows the film to stand the test of time.

Bottom line? Teenagers are people, too.

In the words of Carl the janitor to Principal Vernon,

“C’mon, Vern, the kids haven’t changed, you have.”

Carl was a smart man, even if he did major in the Custodial Arts.