Stop Trying to Make 90s Summer Happen
Thirty years later, the world my kids live in is unrecognizable from the one of my youth.
When I was a kid, I longed for summer break. The ideal of three blissful months of wandering the neighborhood, sticky from melted popsicles and smelling of chlorine, knocking on doors to see if I could rouse any of my friends while our moms sipped TaB and did Jane Fonda videos, utterly ignoring us— perfection. In Ohio where I grew up, …
