Between the summer of Grade 8 and Grade 9 it was quite common for a lot of us to take a summer school class in order to earn an early high school credit. It wasn't so bad because collectively a whack of us did it together so it was basically like hanging out with your friends. And because a lot of us were heading off to different high schools, it was one last chance for us to be together. For a month of mornings in a consistently humid July, we hopped on our bikes and whipped down to take Grade 9 “Introduction to Typing” taught on… get this, TYPEWRITERS . Fun fact, white out was not invented for pens, it was for typewriters because, THERE WAS NO BACKSPACING (as I write this I have already backspaced at least fifty times…) During typing class we learned to not only type quickly, but we had to learn to do it without looking down at the keys. During tests and exams we had to cover our hands. I wish I could say it was a skill I managed to keep but, I am currently STARING DOWN AT MY KE...

Commitment at a young age is completely based on your parents. You’re told how to hold your fork, how to clean your room, how to do your homework, whether or not your playing a sport or joining a club… and we can't forget Sunday School (like why make us go to school on Sunday - we already go 5 days a week!). We were told which pens to use, which markers are suitable, and where we can draw even (the wall does not count as a canvas from what I was told). Our parents dictated every obligation, every habit and every routine we were committed to. Until you enter high school. You see, last year – in grade 8 – I was using a pencil. Now I’m talking it was a cadillac of mechanical pencils that always stayed sharp and used the 0.3 leads – sometimes the 0.5s – but definitely never the 0.7s – that’s just too thick of a line for my perfectly artistic penmanship – and I had a fancy white eraser that didn’t leave hordes of pink shavings all over your clothes. It was the level of commitment I was...

My older brother Will was a math GENIUS. I was not. English and Arts was (and is) where my heart lies. My siblings and I STILL laugh to this day that my Dad built his own accounting firm from the ground up and NONE of us took it over. “No thanks Dad, I’m gonna be an actor, no, musical theater performer... er, I meant artist, no, filmmaker? Writer? WRITER!” Who wants to make a perfectly comfortable living doing a profession that will always be in demand? (Death and taxes anyone...) “No thanks, I think I’ll struggle and live in a pool of constant rejection and uncertainty.” (In all seriousness, my Dad always has the most epic answer when we ask him why he never forced it on any of us, “I wanted you all to do something you liked.”) SIDE BAR: For those thinking of going into the Arts in any form – it is hard, rejection filled, uncertain and offers no guarantees of success, BUT you will know it’s for you because you will keep trying to make it work until IT DOES. For a long time it is li...

What better accessory to sport for your first day of grade nine than a cast on your right foot? Not! Well, at least I had a conversation starter, right? Yeah, no! As the Barenaked Ladies so kindly put it, “I'm trying my best not to look like a minor niner…” But seriously, who doesn’t look like one? I went from being a big fish in an elementary school sized pond, to a tadpole in a high school abyss – it was written all over my Ten-O-Six toned face. My 14-year-old insecurities were wrapped around what to wear, making new friends, being further from home, taking the city bus, having classes with different teachers, trying to be noticed but at the same time not, and of course… boys. My 42-year-old self would encourage me to rock it, but I was a shy soul and ignored that future guidance like the plague. And what on earth is a DAY 1, DAY 2, DAY 3 Schedule? Why do classes start at weird times like 9:27am and 10:36am then finish at 3:06pm in high school? Was this to prepare me for the “r...

High school hallway. 1995. Students ebb and flow from classrooms and lockers dodging from one class to the next, or just dodging class... GRACE engages her new locker neighbour, the recently arrived American student, DEVON. GRACE: Hey Devon, a few of us are goin’ to the movies tonight, d’you wanna come with? DEVON: Cool, sure… I’ll have to ask my parents but, should be fine. PATRICIA approaches, cradles an arm full of textbooks. PATRICIA: Hey kids! To Patricia. GRACE: I invited Devon. DEVON: Are you coming tonight too? PATRICIA: No Yeah. DEVON: Oh, that’s too bad. PATRICIA: What is? DEVON: That you can’t join. To Grace. DEVON: Right? GRACE: Yeah no, that’s what she said. DEVON: So, you are coming? PATRICIA: No yeah. DEVON: Okay, so… I’ll see you tonight? PATRICIA: Yeah no, for sure. To Grace. PATRICIA: You driving? GRACE: Yeah no, you? PATRICA: Yeah no. DEVON: I have a car? If that helps, I mean, I can drive… PATRICIA: Oh yeah? Okay, no yeah. DEVON: No? GRACE: No yeah...

Jordan. Catalano. I’m just going to leave that there. You’re welcome. The Claire Danes juggernaut that was M y So-Called Life was a quintessential show for many of us growing up in the 90’s, and it was not until I was older that I realized it was only on for ONE SEASON! It was so impactful and formative I felt like it was in my life for so much longer than it obviously was. It was a show that made you FEEL something - not that you needed to deal with any more feelings than you already have rushing through you as a teenager. But maybe that was its affect - that it made you feel less alone to see Angela, Brian, Rayanne, Sharon and Rickie try to navigate the overwhelming emotional mess that can be adolescence. Hey, I’m not saying Beverly Hills 90210 did not do that. (Dylan McKay, you have my heart forever.) And although Patricia and I grew up in a different country on the opposite coast then the BH90210 kids (shout out to Canuck Jason Priestley), there was no where else you were Thursda...

Grace and I were born into an analog world of rotary phones, knobbed-tube televisions, cassette recorders and fax machines. Everything took time. Patience was a necessity and rushing it was non-existent. I remember turning on my boom box, waiting patiently for my favourite song to come on the air. My hands would shake as they held the record and pause buttons simultaneously – wishing with all my heart that if I was lucky enough to hear the song, my hand-eye coordination and timing would be impeccable. If I was successful, I didn’t let myself get excited just yet. There was still the chance of the radio announcer talking at the end of the song. Fingers crossed. This kids, is how we made iTunes playlists in the '90s. Our generation is typically known as the tail end of Gen X, but I like that we’re also known as “Xennials” - defined as the Oregon Trail generation, having had an analog childhood and a digital adulthood. Oh, the days of Oregon trail, and making sure you don't die of...

*NO DADS WERE INSULTED BY THE TELLING OF THIS STORY* Fashion statements in the '90s were definitely unique – with our big bangs, tapered jeans, IKEDA overalls with only one shoulder fastened, oversized “Don’t Worry Be Happy” t-shirts, hospital pants, scrunchies, Beaver Canoe sweatshirts and chokers to name a few. We’ve all worn them and no matter what you say, you cannot hide from the era of clothing that shaped your style today. Just no backwards jeans though, ok? Kris Kross didn't actually "jump jump" because their pants would have fallen "down down". Although fashion trends tend to dissolve through each decade, some still stand the test of time, just with a different flavour. When Grace and I were in high school, she was more of the girly dramatic type while I was more of the artistic jock. Our taste in clothing was same-same but different. Grace was thinner than I was though, so the only thing we could really share were shoes and hairbands. From the hott...

I cannot tell you the cell phone number of my sister, either of my brothers, my Mum, Dad, best friend Ariel who I’ve known since I was born, or, hell I don’t even know Patricia’s phone number…! BUT, I can tell you the phone numbers of my five friends from Grade 7, Ariel’s PARENT’S home number, my Dad’s old office number (he’s been retired for 10+ years) and the boy I liked from down the street, or again, his parent’s phone number. Back in the 1990s if you wanted to connect with your crush, you played a telephone game called: Please don’t let their parents answer. Please don’t let their parents answer. Please… “OH! Hi, Mrs. March… I’m good thanks, how are you?... Oh, um, my parents? Yeah no, they’re good… sure, I’ll tell them you say hi… I was wondering if, um, yeah, is Chris free at all?” Hurdle #1 was quickly followed by Hurdle #2 - the excruciating heart in your throat, longest pause in your life when Mom put the receiver down to go find Chris leaving you to sweat: a.) will he take...