By now you must think I am obsessed with turning back the hands of time, looking back and stirring up anything nostalgic. If so, then your assumptions are correct.

Question: When YOU recall YOUR past do you get the warm fuzzies and is your mind filled with heartwarming memories of a fun-loving, careless youth? Alternatively, when entering into thoughts of years gone by, are you engulfed with doom and gloom and quickly shut down your memory bank before it spirals out of control?

Disclaimer:

This is a light hearted look at the past, with a few serious undertones.

Hey groovy readers! 

Strap on your platform shoes and get ready for a wild ride down memory lane as I step back into the iconic era of high waisted jeans and Puca shell necklaces. We sure had some seriously far-out fashion—the 1970s high school scene!

Picture this: bell-bottom jeans so wide you could practically take flight, hair so big it had its own gravitational pull, and a soundtrack featuring the hottest tunes from the Bee Gees, ABBA, and Earth, Wind & Fire. Yep, welcome to the disco-infused halls of high school, where every day felt like a scene from Saturday Night Fever.

But hang on, high school in the 1970s was not ALL about shaking your booty down, moving and grooving…

SO

Picture this: bell-bottom jeans wide enough to catch a rock and roll breeze, hair so colossal it could host its own Peter Frampton, The Who, or Led Zeppelin concerts. Step into the high school corridors, where disco sucked and the spirit of rebellion collided with anyone of authority, turning every day into a head-banging, frayed jean jacket adventure.

No matter what your choice of music or clothing was, navigating the hallways was like wandering through a maze of lockers housing everything from mood rings, and peace signs to lava lamps and black light posters. And let’s not forget the lunchtime battlefield, where the cafeteria was the frontline for the ongoing war between the jocks and the nerds, with their respective armaments of geometry sets, Adidas running shoes, and unwanted noogies.

Forget about Spotify playlists and Apple Music—we had mixtapes that we’d trade like they were gold bullion. Crafting the perfect mixtape was an art form, a delicate balance of heart-wrenching ballads and funky beats to impress that special someone. Some of us decorated the plastic covers, while others drew elaborate scenes on the inside card covering.

I had a crush on a boy who decorated his tape cases with hand-drawn thorny roses, which was the coolest thing I had ever seen.

In the classroom, we were armed with outdated textbooks and encyclopedias—the Google of our time. We’d swap notes written on paper, not text messages, and passing a note in class was the original covert operation. If you were caught, it was like being busted for contraband.

On a personal note, when I was in Grade 8, attending North Van High, there was a block that consisted of 30 minutes of French and 30 minutes of Math. We were divided into two groups. When the French component was finished, we would traipse down the long dark corridor, trading places with the next class. It was during this change-over when my friend Sandy P. and I would exchange notes. We thought it was a perfect plan. Sometimes, we would draw happy faces with a cute greeting, other times it would be the answers to the test!  Until we got caught.

I’m still unclear why I barely passed with a C- 

There were many types of fashion, but whatever we wore became our own personal uniform. 

When we rocked the fashion scene, the anthem echoed, “the wilder, the groovier.” Bell bottoms were so expansive you could stash backstage passes and guitar picks; tie-dye shirts and bibbed overalls were like a psychedelic guitar solo. The coolest people wore fringed jackets, leather jackets, or short skirts. And let’s not forget the footwear—platform shoes that moonlighted as instruments of foot-tapping rebellion, though they could be a serious challenge for anyone attempting to bust a move on the dance floor.

I dated a boy who once fell off his shoes and broke his ankle.

And don’t get me started about traipsing all over the Lower Mainland in the rain when our wide-leg jeans got wet up to our knees, and our feet almost froze off.

Meanwhile, there were favourite words and catchphrases that captured the spirit of the 1970s and the various cultural movements and trends of that era. Keep in mind that not everyone may have used these phrases equally. So, I am wondering, do any of these ring a bell with you??

“Far out, man!” – Used to express amazement or approval.

“Keep on truckin'” – A phrase associated with perseverance and moving forward.

“Right on!” – Used to show agreement or approval.

“Groovy” – An expression of coolness or excellence.

“Outta sight!” – Similar to “amazing” or “awesome.”

“Can you dig it?” – Asking if someone understands or appreciates something.

“Peace and love” – Reflecting the counterculture movement’s emphasis on peace and harmony.

“Make love, not war” – A slogan associated with anti-war sentiments.

“Dy-no-mite!” – Popularized by the character J.J. Evans on the TV show Good Times, expressing excitement.

“What’s your sign?” – Reflecting the fascination with astrology during the 1970s.

“Have a nice day” – This phrase became popular, often associated with a smiley face icon.

“Disco fever” – Referring to the craze around disco music and dance.

Which brings me to a word that was rarely a part of our vocabulary…

“Stereotype”

In today’s standards the word stereotype is almost like an obscenity. It is frowned upon for very good reasons. However, thinking about all my 1970s former friends and fellow high school graduates, we were all often labelled. And sometimes they were unkind and horrific titles we reluctantly carried with us.

Here are a few of mine…

Mouse, Squeak, Motor Mouth, Bubble Butt, Edith, and Georgette…

I honestly did not mind being called these things. I loved the attention and found the names to be quite endearing and comical. Well, maybe not a bubble butt…anyway, I digress…

My recent book, Class of 78 is based on ten high school graduates. I specifically wrote about their stereotypes because it was my overall goal to break them. To show the reader we are not those stereotypes, with the question…

Do our stereotypes make us who we are? Or is it who we are that makes up our stereotypes.

Definition:

A stereotype is a widely held and oversimplified belief or idea about a particular group of people. It involves making assumptions or generalizations about individuals based on their appearance in a certain social, cultural, ethnic, or other identifiable group. Stereotypes are often simplistic and may not accurately reflect the diversity and individuality within the group they target. They can contribute to biased thinking, prejudice, and discrimination by perpetuating fixed, often negative, views about people based on their perceived characteristics or group affiliations. Recognizing and challenging stereotypes is important to promote a more accurate and fair understanding of individuals and groups.

Here is an excerpt from my recent book, Class of ’78, describing one of the characters, Susan Jillian in 1978, and then ten years later in 1988. I wonder if I could be describing you or someone you knew?

Susan 1978:

Everyone in school knew Susan Jillian. She was hard to miss from being a fixture on the sidelines as the head cheerleader for the basketball team. Susan had a girl squad of friends that she paid little attention to, and worked weekends at Barney’s in the Lingerie department.

In keeping with the stereotypical popular girl status, Susan was more interested in the latest fashion trends and boys on the basketball team, than getting good grades and being kind. But what took precedence over everything else was that Susan had one thing on her mind, something she had obsessed over since Grade Ten and was determined to make happen on the night of graduation.

Susan Jillian’s yearbook prediction stated she would ‘most likely marry a wealthy and prosperous businessman, live in a mansion, and have two kids.’  Nicknamed Suzy-Q, she was elusive and fashionably attractive. Magazine pretty, with her blonde hair neatly tied up in a ponytail, Susan was well known for her thick layers of Covergirl mascara and Bonne Bell cherry-flavoured lip gloss. Spotted in the halls, on the bleachers, and when she practiced her cheers, Susan always smelled like Avon’s Sweet Honesty perfume, and yet the rumours indicated she was anything but sweet and honest. 

Susan wore her cheerleading uniform on game days, and only dated jocks from the basketball team. She dressed in the latest trend of high-waisted wide-leg jeans, wedgy platform shoes, fitted turtlenecks, and a thin gold necklace with a heart pendant. Susan proudly draped one of her current boyfriend’s letterman jackets over everything. Some called her a floozy and most assumed she slept around.

Susan’s mother was a nurse in the geriatric ward of the local hospital, and her dad was an accountant. She had three younger sisters, triplets—a phenomenon in the small town. Their names were Sylvia, Sara, and Sasha. Much attention went to them, and their family was called the Four S’s. As in “Here come the four S’s. I would sure hate to be their parents.” Comments such as these were followed with a laugh and a slap on the back.

The entire family were avid churchgoers, and Susan’s father demanded morning and evening scripture readings before school and in the evening at bedtime. Susan dutifully obliged but secretly thought herself to be independent, and therefore did whatever she wanted. If she was ever not allowed to do something, she did it anyways. She got so used to sneaking out of her house that she rarely entered or left by the front door. Susan was desperate to escape from her parent’s judgement, reign, and rules.

In preparation for the graduation ceremony, Susan had travelled to the neighbouring town of Hillsprings by bus and bought a dress from the Suzy Creamcheese store in the Hillsprings Mall. She had decided to wear a long coat over her sequined red grad dress to hide the plunging neckline and micro-mini length, so her family was none the wiser. Susan knew they would never approve of her risqué outfit, especially her grandmother, who was already referring to her as a harlot and a Jezebel.

She was anxious and excited for the grad ceremony, but more so about what was to come afterwards. Susan had planned for the outcome all year. 

But hang on a minute, let’s not forget the 1970s turned into the 1980s like a Breck Shampoo commercial on television, “And so on…and so on…and so on…” We eventually grew up, struggled, excelled, and struggled some more…we were in search of who we wanted to be; it was all about the journey and yet not fully arriving.

Susan 1988:

Over the years, Susan became outspoken and confident and could be heard saying on many occasions, “I do not give a rat’s ass what anybody thinks!” Since the incident at Lover’s Lane and the race to the altar, Susan always made a point to speak her mind. 

Shortly after her first child was born, she got a job writing a column for the local newspaper called, “Sarcastic Susan—What Will She Say Next?” 

Susan’s column was the topic of the day and grist for the gossip mill on print day, along with“Astrid Ann’s Predictions.”

She made it her duty to discuss politics, religion, current events, sexism, and her all-time favourite topics, male chauvinists and religious fanatics. When the royal wedding of Lady Diana to Prince Charles took place, Susan asked, “Why are YOU Obsessed with the Royal Family?” When the Berlin Wall tumbled, she asked her readers, “Why did it take so long?”  She was quoted as saying, “If more women were in power, there would be fewer wars because what mother wants to see her child brutally murdered?” Some wanted her column banned and others revelled in it. Her most recent column spoke about stereotypes. Titled, “How Dare You,” Susan asked, “Are we our stereotype, or does our stereotype make us who we are?” 

Susan’s personal favourite article was, “Am I a dumb blonde? I dare you to say it!” She gave a basic history lesson and definition: “Okay I am guilty of telling a few dumb blonde jokes myself, so don’t think I am all high and mighty. But that was before, this is now. So, to set the record straight, ‘Blonde jokes’ that employ the stereotype, overlap with other jokes that portray the subject of the joke as promiscuous and stupid. Many of these jokes are variants of ethnic jokes about other identifiable groups dating back to the seventeenth century. The new and not-funny-to-everyone jokes about being blonde are overwhelmingly female-specific and undeniably sexist…”  

Nearly ten years after high school, when thinking back, it still made Susan’s blood boil at just the thought of the labels and treatment she endured throughout her entire education. It was like she had a Rolodex file device in her brain and could summon past hurts, mean words, and derogatory comments accumulated over the years. “If you smiled more you would be much prettier; It’s okay if you are bad at math, you’re a girl so don’t worry about it; She’s only good for one thing; She was asking for it…”  Words and statements were rudely used for a woman’s anatomy, looks, and personality. 

Everybody in MeadowBrook read Susan’s column even though some refutably professed her outspoken views were hogwash and balderdash. The women’s church auxiliary bypassed her outspoken articles and her parents never left the house on a print day out of sheer embarrassment.

Susan was still the talk of the town, but she now felt worthy of the reasons why.

To help deal with her anger, Susan started jogging. It surprised her how good it made her feel. All year round, before the sun rose and her children woke up, Susan would run throughout neighbourhoods and on back country roads. With every stride and foot slamming down on the pavement,she knew she was stamping out the demons from her past. Even though her outdoor private therapy sessions felt healing, Dwayne did not like her out running alone and often pleaded with her not to go. Susan was headstrong and fearlessly responded, “I dare anyone to mess with me!” He loved this side of his wife but hoped it would not one day get her into trouble. 

Eventually, Susan jumped on the fitness bandwagon and became an aerobics instructor. Once again she was in the limelight and somewhat of a celebrity, complete with a thong leotard, leg warmers, headband, scrunchies in her ponytail, high-top running shoes, and cassette tapes for her music. She also sported a trendy gym bag slung over her shoulder, with the word SWEAT decorating the sides. 

The 1980s was a time when hair was big, and so were the ambitions. Neon colours ruled the fashion scene as if a pack of highlighters threw a party in everyone’s closets. Walkmans and boomboxes were the must-have accessories, turning every street into a mobile disco. We learned more dance moves from music videos than from our PE classes. The Cold War had us doing duck-and-cover drills, but we were more concerned about perfecting the art of the moonwalk. “Like, totally” became the verbal glue holding sentences together, and everything seemed to be either “totally tubular” or “gag me with a spoon.” It was the era of mixtapes, Rubik’s Cubes, and convincing ourselves that big shoulder pads were somehow a power move. Ah, the ’80s—the decade that left us with leg warmers, questionable perms, and memories we can’t help but laugh about, like a nostalgic sitcom we all starred in.

Karen’s books can be found on all online platforms in addition to some public libraries and stores.

Please leave a comment, in the comment section at the bottom of this blog, with some of your favourite memories or any questions or comments you might have. 

Alternatively you can email Karen @ [email protected] 

or message her on Instagram @ https://www.instagram.com/karenharmonn/?hl=en