Gen X Reality in HHC Fiction
Models: Maddie Dawn and Lillian Cordero. Photographer: Tino Duvick of Broken Chain Photography
Disclaimer: The stories and suggestions that I pepper liberally in this blog are NOT TO BE TRIED NOW! This is not the 1990’s. I repeat THIS IS NOT the 1990’s! Melissa Velasco, the HHC team, and Gen X are not responsible for questionable choices made by anyone who reads this blog. Consider this blog a historical aside. An awesome one. (Cue the evil laughter.)
The Gen X “screw you” stereotype is prolific on social media lately. While I greatly resemble much of what’s said, I think there are layers that aren’t fleshed out. We got to this Gen X stereotype somehow, after all. How does this relate to a fictional book series? The Hollywood High Chronicles is set in the early 1990’s. These teen characters are Gen X. Yes, your Gen X crazy aunt, volatile boss, and grumpy neighbor who wears hoodies and backwards caps at Red Hot Chili Peppers concerts, used to be teenagers. . . A different brand of teenager than you see today.
Let’s unpack this unique generation.
Yes, Gen X has a “screw you” façade. It’s not that we don’t care. We do, deeply. It’s more that we don’t generally wallow around in nonsense. Part of this lack of wallow is that we’ve done so much worse than whatever the wallowing is about, got the souvenir t-shirt, and survived. “Cut to the chase” is rude, but we’re big on brevity so we can crank our music and drift off in our own heads again. We want to get to the point, except when it amuses us to do otherwise. That is what’s meant when people warn not to wake the sleeping Gen X bear. Poke at us hard enough and we’ll wake up. Then it’s a matter of three choices. We could decide your drama isn’t worth our effort and dismiss it altogether, which I assure you is the ultimate insult. Option two is to yell, “Your mom,” and then ignore you. It’s also an insult, but likely means we like you somewhere deep inside. The third option is slowly rising from our lounge chair to hand you your butt. You best hope we decide it’s not worth the effort, because when we fire up, we put everything we’ve got into it. We’re the furthest thing from a lazy generation. What we are is choosy about where our energy goes.
Melanie Slate, and the Misfits, are Gen X teen characters who offer an exemplary example of what makes Gen X tick, and how we got this way. In the 90’s we didn’t have phone cameras in every pocket, or constant texting and social media bombardment. There was a sense of anonymity. You’ve all heard that, but it goes a step further. We had a chance at “do overs.” Every infraction didn’t stick to us, which was a blessing because people make mistakes. Being free to do/say stupid stuff that we learned from was a blessing. We all deserve that.
There was a different mentality in society then. Some were stingy with the cut loose allowance, but for the most part things were more relaxed, at least in the world I grew up in. A little “acting up” was secretly validated and expected. If you didn’t hurt anyone with your shenanigans, then an all night rager in a field, or harmless break in through an unlocked window of a mortuary to “just look”- (I swear I never did that)- wasn’t more than a wrist slap offense. The key was to not harm people, or property. (That detail is imperative. We had a strong moral compass as a collective young generation. There were boundaries. It was all fun and games until someone took it too far. Then it was them against all of us. Allowance for our wild ways depended on a universal understanding that we were mischievous, but had enough sense to know when to stop.)
We ghost hunted through abandoned buildings and cemeteries at two in the morning, while our parents thought we were at Sarah’s house. We had nowhere to go because Sarah was ‘at my house.’ Why not live it up all night? We could just sleep all day tomorrow. Was theoretically creeping through a mortuary, that I CERTAINLY didn’t do, breaking and entering? Sure, technically, I suppose it was. If there was no damage, the infraction might be shrugged off with a warning, and, “Eh, no harm no foul. Kids will be kids.” People had a broader threshold of right and wrong, and were a bit more laid back. We frolicked in that gray area. I’ve since realized that the gray area was because of the lack of evidence of our generally harmless fun. It was also a safer time in a lot of ways. There were dangers, of course, but a pack of roaming teens had a little more room to safely play then.
Parents gave us freedom… perhaps too much freedom, but eh. Most of us made it with only a few bruises. We came through with a sense of adventure and a firm backbone. By the time we reached eighteen, we had lived more life than you would believe. We roamed free, fought hard, weren’t sheltered, and thrived. Are we a little irrational with our quick tempers now? We can be, but most of us have settled into a healthy balance with a little age. I guarantee that a Gen X companion is quick witted and laughs louder than anyone else in the room. We also throw blows and run our mouths. The good news is that we’re usually a damn fine time.
My kids have said more than once that they wish I had video evidence of my tales from my 1990’s teen adventures. I secretly smile and thank all the Goddesses that there’s little evidence. It was the lack of phone cameras and social media that unleashed us. Without those distractions and constraints, we were free. We hopped in cars every weekend and were off on quests like hobbits leaving the shire. Nothing but possibilities awaited as six hours of freedom felt like the best kind of eternity.
Gen X is coined “the last feral generation,” and it’s true. I feel for the kids now. As a bit of a “bad mom” I make suggestions when my teens have no idea what to do as they make Saturday night plans. They look at me like I’m nuts. Apparently, roaming the graveyard, hitting a rager house party, or sneaking into the public fountain for a dip at midnight, are aghast infractions. “Well, if they didn’t want people to swim, they shouldn’t have installed a huge fountain,” is no longer an acceptable rationalization. On one hand, I’m relieved that my kids are mellow. It certainly saves me from having to try not to laugh while the police give me a lecture about my fountain swimming kids. On the other hand, I’m sad for them. HOW can someone get out of high school without making a mad dash through the hole in the school fence, like we did on occasion, to head to the beach for a ditch day when the weather was so beautiful that it was criminal to waste time in a classroom? It was all about moderation back then. We worked our tails off to maintain solid grades. It’s hard to expel an honors student for ditching. That was key. We balanced our trouble making with good choices.
I smile to this day when I think about my high school counselor pulling up to the real Snow White’s Café in her GIANT Cadillac. She’d park, saunter in, give us a talking to about our ditching, and then take a load off and order a cup of coffee. We weren’t offended when she joined us. She was awesome and talked to us like we were human beings of merit. She recognized that ditching was an infraction, but she let us finish our food before hauling us back to school. You haven’t lived until you’ve piled into a Cadillac with your best friends while you tried to appear ashamed.
We got lunch detention for ditching, but that was also awesome. You see, lunch detention consisted of sitting on the steps of the two-story building in the Commons with the counselor. The other Magnet performing arts kids wandered our way. The counselor exasperatedly informed that this was a punishment, NOT a privilege. In true Gen X fashion, our unpunished friends would offer a laundry list of infractions they got away with, that CERTAINLY warranted lunch detention. Our friends were interred in detention for their admissions. Together again, we were all happy. The other administrators didn’t share our counselors' sense of humor. They were regularly pained by our glee at pretzeling their punishment intentions. It was our sworn duty as detainees to feel bad and really soak in our wrongs. We didn’t. Punishing the willing loses its edge. We were a merry band of misfits who had fun wherever we went. While lawless, our shenanigans weren’t the sort to land us in actual jail, where we surely would have had a different attitude. The administration's goal was to instill right and wrong through punishment, which they should to deter offenders from punishment in “the real world,” but we weren’t a danger to society. We were more like a runaway clown car full of glitter and thumbtacks. I assure you that we’ve all grown up into law-abiding citizens.
We followed our siren call desires back then. I don’t regret it. No one, and nothing, got harmed… (Slight head wobble and wince. We’ll stick with that story. It’s largely true save for a few hilarious incidents, but everyone survived.)
If the kids of the HHC seem rampantly feral, just accept that it is what it is, they are what they are, and live vicariously through them. You’ve earned a vicarious ditch day, chance at some shenanigans, and the freedom to give into their questionable choices.
Post Blog warning: I reiterate that these stories are from a different time! The saying “90’s kids were the last feral generation” is true for a reason. You can’t get away with what we did, and I don’t encourage it. Current day teen rebellion is a different brand. Don’t try my examples offered in this blog. The HHC, and Melissa Velasco, aren’t suggesting or permitting feral mayhem. We’ve retired from that craziness and don’t condone, nor are we responsible for our readers’ choices.
Photo Credits:
Photographer: Tino Duvick of Broken Chain Photography
Models: Maddie Dawn Cordero, Lillian Cordero