The smell of SpaghettiOs warming in the microwave wafted from the kitchen as Stephanie Zinone belted out “Cool Rider” in our tiny living room. My mom’s rocking chair sat still in the corner next to the small wooden cabinet that housed our TV and VCR. Our cat, Shadow, made figure eights around my legs while my little brother did somersaults across our faded couch.

I was ten, a fifth grader going on my fourth year as an ’80s latchkey kid, and this is what after school looked like for me in 1987. Of course, on nice days we didn’t waste time with the worn VHS copy of Grease 2 or a can of SpaghettiOs. My brother and I would have been circling the pond that stood between the two u-shaped buildings that made up our apartment complex, looking for ducks and catfish. We would have been climbing trees or throwing little green crab apples off the second floor walkway that circled each building. We would have been biking to White Hen to buy a Butterfinger or a pack of Hubba Bubba.

Those hours of complete freedom after school and on the weekends had a profound impact on who I am today. I’m a Gen Xer, the generation crammed between the Baby Boomers and the Millenials, often thought of as the forgotten generation, the children of divorced parents wearing keys around our necks. Being ten years old in 1987 equipped me to “figure stuff out on my own.”

Gen Xers handled peer disagreements and organized games, our banana seat bikes were tossed in a pile nearby. We could spend hours waiting for our favorite song to come on the radio just for the chance to hit record and capture it for future listening, even though the DJ was usually talking through parts of it. We didn’t bite into our Everlasting Gobstoppers, and we never got tired of being at the pool. A can of Coke was a treat to be savored and a trip to Lake Michigan was still the best day ever, even when the water was 54 degrees.

The ’80s made me resourceful, a problem solver, someone who can handle boredom and who relishes alone time. Thirty-three years later, a global pandemic has brought a summer reminiscent of the ’80s to our suburban community, and the skills I acquired as a child during that time have proven useful. Most of our youth sports have been postponed or canceled, there are no trips planned, and dinner happens around the table at six.

It’s a less exciting summer, a less busy summer, but my kids are biking the neighborhood, playing in the sprinkler, fixing a lot of their own food, and learning a few life lessons from the ’80s.