Synopsis of 1984 trip (challenge)

(Laptop screen)

Just over a year ago, I agreed to take a trip back to 1984. Dreams of my own shiny silver DeLorean DMC-12 glowing green with atomic fusion had me begging to sign the waivers.

“Of course, I read them. No, I’m not still complaining. Geez!”

With all the latest gadgets, 5G phone packing 5 cameras and 8K video, 512 gig, hand sized external hard drives holding 2TB each and a shiny slim light laptop with an OLED touchscreen 4.4 GHz, 12 MB L3 cache, 10 cores, 12 threads, and Xe graphics, I was armed and ready to show everyone the 80’s I remembered.

“Yes, I took my digital camera. No, it was not part of the assignment.”

In my original April 1984, I was in small town Kansas as a 15 year old high school sophomore counting the weeks until I turned 16. The geeky look I couldn’t wait to erase, huge plastic rimmed glasses that covered my round face and shiny silver braces hiding my soon to be perfect smile, was being replaced by contacts, a retainer, and hair long enough to put in a ponytail, since my mother Dorthy Hamilled my head in the 4th grade.

“No, I already had my license. We had farm permits at 14. Yes, to and from school and work.”

Freshman year ended with my first report card B and I was dead set on that not happening again.

”It’s possible they chose me because of my photography background. They never said. I know, I know the person selected couldn’t be a total idiot.”

At 7:15 a.m. every day, we yawned our way through first period and every day, year round, my 8th grade brother and I stayed after school for seasonal sports. Dad allowed me to drive our travel vehicle, a black 1978 Dodge panel van with red shag carpet and a wooden bed he installed himself, as long as I drove my younger siblings to all their events.

”Shaggin Wagon. It was a 70’s thing but yes, I was teased horribly. More so though, when I had to climb up on the front bumper to hold open the carburetor with a screwdriver so it would start in the winter.”

15 minutes of homeroom followed first period and I was lucky enough to be in the word processor classroom. Wall E shaped Apple computers were in the basement with the junior high kids. We learned flow chart processing down there and took typing freshman year.

“We had a computer at home but most didn’t. Your grandfather was one of the first to use one for his engineering work. Vectors.”

We arrived home each day for mutilated 5:30pm dinner. Luckily, there were always Banquet microwave meals in the freezer. The dial driven microwave rode on its own cart and doubled the size of the Apple. Stacks of Tupperware filled an entire cabinet, most lids were destroyed or altered in microwave experiments.

“Yes, I’m referring to your grandmother’s horrific cooking. No, they don’t need to know we found forgotten food in the microwave the next day. Reheated vegetables, usually.”

The nearest grocer was 30 minutes away and our overflowing cart would cost between $300 and $400 bi-weekly. We bought a pig and a cow at the fair every August and split it with another family.

“In the chest freezer in the basement. The laundry was too.”

Cable TV didn’t reach us until the mid 90’s but inner city homes had it. The remotes were children of the house as changing the channel or volume was still manual. We had 4 channels, 4, 5, 9, and 41 so seeing what was showing was pretty quick. PBS was on 41 and where we found most of our shows, except for Saturday morning cartoons.

“All the channels. They were only on Saturday morning.”

We wore jeans and t-shirts almost every day. The high wasted girls’ were cut so slim I had to lay on the bed to zip and button them. Clothing didn’t have the plastic content for stretching. Some ventured into the pop culture clothing with parachute pants, oversized shirts, tights and leg warmers. The later it was the bigger the hair. Cans of hair spray, tons of blue eye shadow, and fluorescent colors adorned the high school halls.

“No, your grandfather wore a golf shirt with a pocket for his pen and slide rule and your grandmother made most of her clothing using tons of plaid polyesters and paisley.”

Parents took a hands on approach to education holding positions on the board, as room mothers, and meeting all the staff. Children were required to have homework completed on their own. Spankings and groundings were common and the “time out chair” was yet to be written.

“Yes, the buckle end was the worst. Cut the skin with the first lashing.”

The nightly news and daily newspapers were gospel. They were our windows to the world. If words were found to be untrue retractions were printed or apologies spoken. We believed in the government officials we elected and made them accountable.

“Almost finished. I don’t answer to you. That’s just paperwork for appearances.”

Children played outside without fenced yards and pets roamed the neighborhood. Parents weren’t worried as long as they arrived at the dinner table promptly.

“I said, almost finished!”

Most households had converted to two incomes as the expense of things now made single income homes practically impossible. The term “latchkey kid” is common and I had been one since age 9. We didn’t lock our doors and windows but had a guard dog.

“No, I’ve not heard from them. Yes, I’m still looking for an online position. No one would believe my resume looking like this.”

I returned from 1984 yesterday, May 1st. When I left one year ago, I was living as a 54 year old woman in Texas with two grown children and a grand child. I was woken by my mother as my 15 year old self in BFE, Kansas, May 1, 1984, a Tuesday, a school day, and I had overslept.

“I organized the photos already and the report is coordinated. No, they still have no idea what happened to the others who weren’t born as of May 1984.”

All signs pointed to me returning at the appropriate age after reliving a year as a teenager. In the last 36 hours a new identity, Melissa Jane Mahaney, was created with my daughter and son-in-law appointed legal guardians of this visually 16 year old. The mirror shock every morning wore off months ago. I will adjust as will my family. The failure of the mission weighs heavily.