After reading my esteemed colleague Erin Gaetz's column last Monday ("Can you spare some karma?" Oct. 23), I realized that I could not relate to her dilemma. This saddened me, because the Life editors must assume that the general readership will be able to relate to a writer's column. Bearing this in mind, I know I grew up in the minority. I've known this fact for a while, but every time I am reminded by it, I feel like the cavemen in the Geico commercials: sad, alone and used for comical purposes to sell products.
If you have not read Monday's Life column let me summarize: Erin was allowed to read "Sweet Valley High" books as a child. Damn the injustice. All I knew about the series was it involved a set of blond twins and this was only because my iron-fisted parents couldn't stop me from sneaking peaks at the covers in the YA section of the library. The lowest literary level of my young modern novel collection consisted only of the Babysitters Club. Not that Mary Anne and Kristy's adventures didn't thrill me, but I yearned to taste the forbidden fruit that was Sweet Valley.
Sadly, the pain did not end there. My parents served up a whole smorgasbord of PG-rated fruit for me. I have written nostalgic columns about the heady days of Nickelodeon, but I kept the truth to myself. I'll admit, besides causing me anguish this fact has left me out of quite a number of fun trivia drinking games. No more will I suffer at Mellow Mushroom on Wednesday nights.
The banned list included: "Goosebumps," "90210," "Ren & Stimpy," "Saved by the Bell," all MTV programming, Seventeen Magazine and every PG-13 rated movie. During recess I was out of the loop. If I had been any good at kickball, my lack of pop culture might have been acceptable. Unfortunately my hand-eye coordination -- and foot-eye coordination, for that matter -- has never been up to snuff. I liked to take advantage of the "sending the ball back" clause in elementary school, until the perfect, smooth pitch was made. Then I would foul out weakly in front of third base/the advanced learning trailer.
My parents may have had some idea of what they were doing, though. Once I accidentally saw "Ace Ventura Pet Detective" with a friend's more morally casual family. Because of my curiosity about some of the movie's intimate scenes, however, my mom had to have a "talk" with me. That night I learned about the birds and the bees. I may not quite have been ready for the graphic imagery at age seven. Given that I only had a very, very basic of the male anatomy the whole description seemed quite impossible.
Other than the whole "learning what sex is" incident though, I maintain I got left out of many culturally important moments in my generation. I can't talk about having a crush on AC Slater; I'm still not sure which one was AC. Also, I can say with full confidence that MTV probably had shows with more substance than "Pimp my Ride" and "Parental Control." Sure, I can still watch the "Real World XV, New York, Again," but I missed those starting moments. Groundbreaking videos, early booty rap and style which I could have desperately used were all denied to me.
I must ask myself, "What can I learn from this?" because otherwise this column would have very little substance besides witty comments and general remorse about my childhood -- both standard in good writing. I've learned that I must make up for every moment missed, every lyric unlearned from the early '90s. Yes, this means "I Like Big Butts" and reading every Cosmo available. I let my pop culture get away from me once; I'm not going to let that happen again.
And just in case my parents think they did something right because I now attend a wonderful university and have great life prospects, let me ask them: Are you looking down on Erin, Mom and Dad?
Because she's a Life columnist, and we stick together.
Clare's column runs bi-weekly on Mondays. She can be reached at ondrey@cavalierdaily.com.
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