For just a moment, I was back in my old bedroom listening to Weezer, the blue album. My birkenstocks dangling off my feet and my room smells of incense. Beads hang on my closet door, and Spencer posters hang above my bed. I smell like Sun Ripened Raspberry or Sunflower perfume (my sister’s-don’t tell her).

The year was 1998 and my summer attire was a collection of American Eagle shorts and spaghetti strap shirts. Tan from the pool, my days were spent sleeping in, vacuuming the den, and washing dishes. Afterwards, I spent time on the house phone and trying to find a way to hang with friends and my first summer boyfriend.

We hung out a lot at the trailer park located across from the elementary school. A lot of our friends lived there. We watched a lot movies rented from Movie Gallery which is now a furniture store. I remember watching Scream and Austin Powers with friends. I remember the nervous feeling of getting ready for to hang with friends and guys.

In a word, summers like this were innocent. We didn’t know what we didn’t know. Living by the hour and the moment. Eating whatever we wanted with no scale consequences.

And when school rolled around, picking that first day of school of outfit was crucial. I still remember the cream colored shirt and brown skirt I wore the first day of 7th grade. I still remember the bell bottom jeans I adored in the 8th grade with the butterflies on my back pockets. I remember when boys suddenly had deeper voices and wore cologne for the first time.

The sound of my childhood also echoes in my mind-Weezer, Bush, The Cranberries, Green Day and so on. The angst of the music matched my anxiety of trying to figure out who I was. I cherish these times and hope that my children are as nostalgic about their childhood one day as I am.

The late 90’s was our time. I look down at my feet. 38 and still wearing Birkenstocks. Some things never change. Maybe I never changed. Maybe I have.

I don’t care what they say about us anyway. I don’t care about that.