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John Hughes Lied to Me
In the ’80s, there were fewer happy endings for misfits like me
“Oh my God!” my mother said as I sat in the back seat of our Chevy Citation, idling in the parking lot of my junior high school. “The other girls are wearing $300 dresses. Are you sure you want to go through with this?”
It was June of 1985. Ronald Reagan was president, the number one song was “Heaven” by Bryan Adams, and I was about to attend my junior high graduation. My stomach was jumping and my legs felt hot in white tights.
We had moved to Holmdel, New Jersey the previous September — my mom, my younger brother, and me. It was among the wealthiest towns in the state, and Mom had moved us there because it also had one of the best school districts. But there was only one neighborhood in town where we could afford the rent among the horse farms and mansions — an old development of small homes appropriately called “Old Manor,” across the railroad tracks from the working-class shore town of Hazlet. But by the time my eighth-grade graduation came around, we were already packing to move. My mom couldn’t afford the rent any longer, and it was clear we didn’t fit in.
“I’ve never heard of someone wearing a $300 dress to an eighth grade graduation,” she said.
