“Hoping for the best, but expecting the worst.
”Forever Young” by Alphaville
Are you gonna drop the bomb or not?”
I know every generation feels a certain nostalgia, believing their era was the best. But for me, growing up in the 70s and 80s truly was something special. Maybe it’s because our modest upbringing taught me to appreciate the little things, or perhaps it’s because life was just simpler “back in the day,” and that simplicity made me more grateful for everything I had.
Have.
The good life.
It’s hard to believe just how little technology there was in our home during my childhood—in anyone’s home, really. We’d rely on paper maps for directions, and microwaves weren’t yet a common household appliance. Like most families, we had one wired phone which we all had to wait our turn to use, and one TV with limited channels. We’d take turns watching our favourite shows, and—wait for it—most networks signed off for the night around 1 or 2 a.m.!
In those days, technology was simpler, and communication was slower, more tactile even. But there was one constant that transcended it all: music. Our home was always filled with the sounds of classic rock, hard rock, progressive rock, a little reggae, country, disco, funk, and singer-songwriters whose timeless music still resonates today. Music wasn’t just background noise—it was woven into the rhythm of our daily lives.
The shrine.
If we wanted to listen to music, we either turned on the portable radio, played our vinyl records on the turntable, or used the combination-stereo-system-and-bar-trimmed-in-faux-black-leather-that-doubled-as-a-cocktail-station. Because, why not? This gloriously over-the-top centerpiece wasn’t just for playing music; it was the social hub of every gathering and, of course, the topic of conversation for years to come. A massive piece of furniture that housed a vast assortment of alcohol, mixes, glassware—and what seemed like hundreds of plastic stir sticks in every neon colour imaginable—it was equipped to prepare any drink known to man. And if that wasn’t enough, it also boasted every album, 8-track and audio component under the sun, complete with the unforgettable multi-coloured disco lights that flashed in sync with the music blasting from speakers trimmed in plush red velour. It was straight out of a 70s fever dream—gaudy, loud, with all the flair and absolutely none of the subtlety.
I’ll wait.
The 70s laid the foundation for some of the most iconic musical experimentation, leaving an everlasting mark on the music industry, popular culture … and on me. Music became one of the defining features of my childhood.
The 70s also set the stage for the cultural, social, and technological shifts that shaped the 1980s, with both decades creating a vibrant backdrop for my younger self.
Analog media.
We had three main ways of communicating: face-to-face, by phone, and, of course, by letter. There was also a fourth option of leaving recorded messages with our local broadcasting company, hoping our friends would spot them scrolling like ticker tape across the bottom of their “modern” 25-inch analog TV screens—which I guess was our version of social media.
And if boys were too shy to express themselves in person, they’d slip letters into your locker or have flowers delivered anonymously, making your heart beat a little faster and your mind race, wondering who was behind the sweet gesture each time.
When we wanted to hang out, we “called on” friends by actually going to their house and ringing their doorbell. We expressed ourselves through mood rings instead of Facebook, or by slipping handwritten notes to friends in school … and then experienced the embarrassment of having a teacher intercept them.
No area code required.
When we called our friends, we had to do so on a landline with a rotary dial: you’d insert your finger into the numbered holes, rotate until it hit the finger stop, release and repeat for all (seven) digits. If their line was busy, we’d have to redial over and over until we got through. And when we finally did, we often had to speak to their parents first!
The landline was sacred.
My heart would skip a beat every time the phone rang after dinner, knowing it was for me. I’d curl up in my room, the long twisty cord of my pink princess phone (that I eventually got!) stretched across my bed as I lay back. It was the lifeline for high school romances and friendships.
It’s amazing how much we could talk about, even after spending the entire day together at school. We’d lower our voices so our parents couldn’t overhear as we drifted from silly to serious in a matter of minutes—gossiping, dreaming about what was to come, sharing secrets, and often seeking my advice as I openly listened to their challenges. We’d stay on the line until someone’s parent inevitably yelled, “Get off the phone!” There was something meaningful about those long, late-night chats that comforted me, wrapping around me like a soft blanket. And as soon as I hung up, I couldn’t wait to do it all over again the next night!
Our friendships were full of inside jokes and little details that still make me smile. Who else could say they had friends named Sandra Dill and Jason Pickles who, together, were my favourite flavour of Hostess potato chips.
Wheels of fortune.
Rollerskating at Wheels was where it all began—friendships, first crushes, and memories that still glide through my mind like the wheels spinning on the polished arena floor. It was practically a sport, with hours spent circling the rink, the beat of the latest pop hits setting the pace as we showed off our moves. As the lights dimmed for the Moonlight Waltz, quiet crushes blossomed, making every lap feel like its own little adventure. And a workout.
When we weren’t at the rink, we hopped on the bus (alone) to the downtown theatres to catch movies like E.T., Back to the Future, The Breakfast Club, Nightmare on Elm Street, and yes, Star Wars: The Empire Strikes Back. Blockbusters ruled the 80s, and we made sure to see them all, squeezing the most out of every weekend.
High school was where everything truly came alive, especially on game days or during pep rallies. The whole school buzzed with anticipation, the gym packed, and the bleachers shaking as everyone stomped their feet and clapped along to the cheers. The collective and contagious energy rippled through the crowd, making us all feel like part of something bigger—part of a community. My friends were always right in the thick of it, waving signs and shouting louder than anyone else, while I led the school fight song with my fellow cheerleaders. The place became a storm of sound, with everyone feeding off the electric atmosphere.
Dances and dreams.
Football games were the social event of the week, but dances were the social events of the month. We’d spend days planning the perfect outfits to make the perfect entrance. With the gym dimly lit to hide the bulky sports equipment, we’d race to the dance floor as Madonna, Prince, or Bon Jovi blasted from the speakers. But the real heart-pounding moments came when Stairway to Heaven began to play, signalling the end of the night, and everyone’s gaze fell on you, waiting to see who you’d slow dance with during the final song.
As we got older, our dances moved from school gyms to the German Club, where the music was louder and the nights felt endless. We’d pile into cars, windows down, wind in our hair and music still ringing in our ears, laughing our way to the after-party—though not before a rowdy pit stop at Harvey’s for a late-night snack. Those nights felt like they could take us anywhere, filled with music, laughter, and a car dangerously packed with way too many friends.
Prom night was the pinnacle of high school excitement—a perfect send-off to the years we’d spent together. Wonderland Gardens, the quintessential venue for special events, was transformed into something magical. Twinkling lights draped across the ceiling, casting a soft glow over the room, adding a touch of enchantment to every corner. It felt like stepping into a dream, with delicate linens on every table, and balloons and streamers in our school colours framing the dance floor. It was a night to remember.
Everyone was nearly unrecognizable, dressed in their fancy suits, gowns, and, of course, their big 80s hair. The air buzzed with nervous excitement as couples posed for far too few photos. With no smartphones to snap endless pictures, our most precious memories now live on in just a few cherished snapshots, if anyone can find them, that is.
When I was unexpectedly crowned prom queen it was a celebration of all the late-night chats, teenage triumphs, shared experiences and bonds built. To me, it was a reflection of the connection and acceptance I had been searching for, and was fortunate to find as we all struggled to navigate the challenges of growing up.
Just like those bags of Hostess (dill pickle) potato chips with their crinkly foil bags that we licked clean to find fun tattoos, stickers and free giveaways, our friendships added joy and comfort to everyday life, turning even the simplest moments into something memorable.
Because, well … chips.