Remember the ache? That deep, yearning feeling for something you just had to have as a kid, something all the other kids seemed to possess with effortless ease? For my sister Becki and me, growing up GenX with baby boomer parents, that feeling was a constant companion. Our worlds, it seemed, were separated by a chasm wider than just a few years on the calendar.
Our folks, bless their hearts, operated on a different wavelength entirely. They didn't quite grasp the social currency woven into the fabric of our childhood – the unspoken hierarchy dictated by the logos on our sneakers or the labels peeking out from our jeans. My mama, with her down-to-earth wisdom, would declare, "If someone doesn't like you for your shoes, they ain't worth your time." And while there's a beautiful truth to that, in the suburban Florida landscape of our youth, K-Mart kicks and hand-me-downs often placed you squarely on the lower rungs of the playground pecking order and in middl and high school, dictated who your friends were.
Looking back, it's a wonder we navigated those years at all. What we didn't realize until adulthood was the tightrope our parents walked financially. Mayonnaise sandwiches for dinner weren't a quirky culinary choice; they were often the stark reality of a paycheck stretched thinner than day-old bread. Mama would cry while she slathered mayo on sandwich bread while Becki and I were saying we loved mayonnaise sandwiches, or as I called them "bandaid" sandwiches as the word mayonnaise never rolled off my tongue as easily as it did for others. Grilled cheese, made with that legendary government cheese so many of us remember with a strange fondness, felt like a feast. We were oblivious, in our innocent childhood, thinking it was all perfectly normal, while Mama carried a silent burden, especially on those days when Daddy's payday vanished before he even made it home, thanks to the calling of the greyhounds at the track or a few rounds for him and strangers at the local bar across the bay. No bitterness lingers now, just a quiet understanding that their own upbringings likely cast long shadows. I do often remember there was never a shortage of coffee and cigarettes in our home though, even before they switched to generic brands.
Despite the financial constraints, Becki and I harbored a deep love for browsing in stores. Even without the promise of a purchase, the brightly lit aisles and neatly arranged merchandise held a certain magic. We both also loved looking at sales papers and catalogs that would find their way in our home. But as we grew older, the stark contrast between what we had and what others flaunted became impossible to ignore. The requests started – for name-brand clothes, for the coveted toys and even cereal advertised on TV. Mama was a master of deflection, the "maybe for your birthday" or the hopeful whisper of "maybe Santa will bring it." Daddy, however, was a brick wall of "NO," a definitive end to any and all negotiation. If it was something he deemed frivolous or, heaven forbid, expensive – like Becki's teenage yearning for a pair of Nikes – he'd dissect the absurdity of the cost with anyone who dared to listen. (Bless her resourceful GenX heart, Becki eventually earned the money herself for those Nikes. Take that, Dad!) BTW, even though she paid with them with her own money, he still made it a topic of conversation.
The move to Florida amplified the brand consciousness. Gone were the days in Mobile where shoes were just shoes and clothes were simply clothes. Suddenly, the K-Mart tag was a scarlet letter, while kids sporting Gayfers, JC Penney and even the slightly more aspirational Sears and Montgomery Wards were the cool kids. This brings to mind my buddy Stig and the infamous Payless shoes his mean-spirited mom, Barb, bought him – a story I’ve shared before about ill-fitting footwear and public humiliation.
As the years marched on, pop culture seeped into our young lives like a persistent tide, while our parents remained anchored in their own generational experiences. Mom did eventually grasp the memo, realizing that Becki couldn't navigate high school in whatever happened to be on the sale rack at K-Mart. I vividly recall one back-to-school shopping trip at the sprawling University Mall in Pensacola, when University Mall was actually the largest mall in Pensacola. Becki disappeared into the dressing room of a trendy store called "Rita's," and Mama and I perched on a little bench in the center. The moment Mama lit up a Winston 100 and took her first couple of drags, a saleslady swooped in, a look of horror on her face, demanding she extinguish it immediately. Ever the rebel, Mama pointed to the ashtray beside her (which probably wasn't an ashtray at all), flicked her ash onto the floor and stubbed out her cigarette with a defiant huff just as Becki emerged with an armful of clothes. "COME ON," Mama declared, grabbing the chosen garments and dropping them into the floor before marching us out of the store, leaving a bewildered Becki in our wake. To be fair, indoor smoking was still somewhat commonplace then, but even I knew lighting up in a clothing store was a questionable move, I mean, who wants to buy clothes where one can smoke?
That year, though, Mama did come through, for me, in her own unique way. She unearthed a pattern and some fabric at Moores and sewed me a couple of pairs of "Jams" shorts. I genuinely loved those shorts; they were comfy and cool in their own homemade way. I never did own a real pair of Jams, though. By the time I had my own money, the moment had passed. Still, every now and then, I stumble upon the Jams website and feel a nostalgic tug and am tempted to buy a few pairs, even if the current patterns don't quite capture the magic of the originals.
There were those perennial requests, the things we yearned for year after year, met with parental bewilderment. This isn't a comprehensive list of all the longed-for treasures, but a few stand out in the hazy landscape of childhood desires:
A BMX or Mongoose bike: "You have one already!" though in reality, a Huffy is not the same even though it would get you from point A to B just the same.
Name-brand sneakers (Nike, Adidas, Pumas – especially those elusive blue suede Pumas in a size 10.5, hint hint): The standard reply was a variation of, "You have perfectly good shoes already!"
Cereal: Becki loved Cap'n Crunch and mama would usually buy it but I never cared for it and wanted Frosted Flakes because "They're GREAT!" but Mama would always point out she is buying Corn Flakes which are the same....no mom, they aren't.
Clothing from mall stores: "You have a closet full of clothes you haven't even worn yet!" Mama was a strategic clearance shopper, often buying out-of-season clothes in larger sizes, practicality trumping style every time. And her classic line, "I could make that cheaper at home," while occasionally true (hello, Jams!), usually wasn't.
Decent haircuts: Oh, the dreaded dining room haircuts! Thirty to forty-five minutes of forced stillness, the incessant snip snip and the horrifying reveal of yet another bowl cut. I lived with haircuts that Mama could have saved time on by just putting a salad bowl on my head and cutting around until the day my daddy took my to Fantastic Sams in the 6th grade, where I chose a "spike" from a magazine with Billy Idol on the cover, his looked much better than mine. Becki, with her long hair, fared better with quick trims. Like seriously, Mama wanted to be a beautician like her mom and my awesome Aunt Beverly but never managed to get into beauty school. But Mama did have one hairstyling superpower: perms. She could create the most glorious curls and actually had random ladies in our dining room receiving a Lilt or whatever brands of perms were the thing back then. Meanwhile in the modern day of today, on my own hair, or shall I say my hairpieces, I still wrestle with a curling iron and rollers, a skill that eluded me despite Mama's expertise.
Cool sodas: Only if they were on sale and cheaper than the generic brand. End of discussion.
Cabbage Patch Kids: Apparently, those were strictly "for girls."
Garbage Pail Kids: I knew better than to ask Mama. Daddy's reaction was a dismissive wave and a pronouncement that they are stupid and baseball cards were a far superior investment. He even started a collection for me, which I mostly ignored, more interested in the cute players than the stats. Daddy eventually took them away from me and continued collecting cards throughout the years. I think Becki still has daddy's card collection. As for Garbage Pail Kids, much like every other kid showing theirs off, they likely would have been confiscated by my teachers anyway.
Records and tapes, especially anything by Madonna: While occasional musical gifts did materialize, they were rare. Becki, ever the savvy one, joined the RCA tape club in the 6th or 7th grade and kept her account in good standing. I, along with my partner in crime Stig, gamed the RCA/BMG and Columbia House clubs for all they were worth, signing up repeatedly for the freebies with zero intention of paying. Stig even made a business of his free tapes and records. Our parents simply didn't understand that the radio didn't play all the good songs.
Barbie: Another toy deemed exclusively for the fairer sex.
Light Brite: Becki had one, a casualty of Mama's vacuum cleaner after a rogue peg incident. When I dared to ask for my own, Mama simply suggested I inquire with my sister as to why that wouldn't be happening.
Coloring books: "You have some at home," or "I have a lot of typing paper at home you can color on."
It's a funny thing, looking back. Television, magazines and the burgeoning world of media became our windows into a pop culture our parents often seemed oblivious to. Now, scrolling through my Instagram feed, I find a tribe of fellow GenXers who not only remember those coveted items but continue to celebrate the nostalgia.
What about you? What were the must-have items of your childhood that remained just out of reach? What generational gaps did you experience? Share your stories in the comments below – I'd love to hear them! And hey, if you happen to stumble upon a cool pair of new blue suede Puma in a men's 10.5 that's just gathering dust on a shoe store shelf...well, let's just say a fellow GenXer with a lifelong longing would be eternally grateful. Just a thought!
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