This weekend was the 30th anniversary of John Hughes’ high school coming of age drama The Breakfast Club, and I wouldn’t be a self respecting Gen X-er if I hadn’t forced everyone in the house under the age of 20 to watch it with me.
And by “force” I mean “promised we could eat dinner in the living room if I got to pick the entertainment.”
Our audience included my teenage and pre teen sons, and two sixteen year-old exchange students: Hanna, my little kitchen organizer, whom you’ve met, and Julia from Russia.
This was going to be good. I’d get all kinds of material in our post movie discussion about which to write. I was mentally doing that little finger-twiddling thing, the universal hallmark of maniacal schemers and bloggers. (more…)