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Celebrate Skip Day for Gen-Xers

In honor of Ferris Bueller’s actual day off, June 5, 1985, we’ve declared today an official Generation X holiday.

It’s Skip Day for Gen-Xers.

This is an international event, y’all. Because of Canada and Coupland. Itza a big deal. All day long, Gen X is elsewhere.

So, skip out. Skip off. Skip the crap. Skip some more crap. And, above all, skip to my lou, my darlings.

Ferris Bueller's actual day off is now Generation X Skip Day

June 11, 1986 is the 30th anniversary of the opening of Ferris Bueller’s Day Off. There was a huge Ferris Fest in Chicago. It included a mock high school dance, scene recreations, tour of film locations and film showings. Seriously, somebody out did  himself. Hopefully, before I die I might get to go to something cool like this. In the meantime, I’m just going to skip the crap today. Too bad it’s Sunday, since there is statistically 50 percent less crap to deal with on weekends than on weekdays. Next year, June 5, 2017, is a Monday. I’m totally skipping that day.

 

Gen X Blog Jennifer Chronicles

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6 Comments

  1. fillyjonk

    I went to prep school in the mid 80s and we actually got OFFICIAL “skip days” – once or twice a year, almost always in spring, at the end of Morning Meeting the Headmaster would declare a “skip day” (often with some elaborate lead-up that would lead us on, and the cleverer of us would be sitting there going “Could it be….could it be…..IT IS!!!”)

    As it was a largely-boarding school there were planned activities – one year a trip to a mall, I think there was a trip to an amusement park one year.

    It was kind of a sweet thing. I’m guessing they were planned well in advance so as to not play heck with the facultys’ testing schedule. (But funny, I don’t ever remember discussing with friends to find a day when “no one” had tests – and therefore, expect that day as a skip day)

    Reply
    • Jennifer

      What a wonderful story about a different time, faraway. So much for rebellious Gen-Xers, right? I also remember something similar – a rather “sanctioned” skip day for seniors. It was officially unofficial and although teachers and administration at my high school didn’t “sponsor” it they went along with it and never planned tests, etc., on that day. By the way, attending a prep school in the 80s sounds very cool and preppy-privileged. I would love to see/share pictures from those glorious days. Thanks for stopping by.

      Reply
  2. Nancy

    As a young teen in the early 80’s, I was blessed to have a father who trusted my judgement when hanging out with my friends. I felt lucky that he was naive and gullible as well. You see, he would actually drive me to the roller rink where I would hang out with a bunch of trouble making burn outs. My typical outfit was red spandex pants and a black sequin tube top. I skipped the FM pumps and opted for black suede ankle boots as I’ve never been able to pull off high heels without wobbling like a newborn giraffe.

    When he picked me up at 11 or 11:30 (whenever my curfew was at that age on a Saturday night) and I was reeking of cigarette smoke, he believed me when I told him the other kids were smoking and we bemoaned the smell and health effects together. It was a rare night if someone scored beer or wine coolers but if we did, we were sure to load up on the breath mints.

    Most of the time I did stay out of trouble, because I was pretty good kid. Usually I would skate around in circles to Judas Priest and Iron Maiden songs and stand in the back while my tough girlfriends postured and pumped themselves up to start fights with their rivals. It was like white suburban teenage girl Jets vs. Sharks with heavy metal songs in the background instead of show tunes.

    So, I wasn’t a thug – but I was all in when it came to smoking weed and noticing boys. The weed was dirt dime bags from Harlem and I suspect oregano half the time. I say noticing boys because I was too scared to approach or flirt with them. Plus, I wasn’t really cool like the other girls that went to the trade tech high school. I was a mostly “A” student geek who wrote for the school literary magazine and at one point was a member of the chemistry club (strictly for high school transcript purposes, though).

    I did a have a brief fling with a skinny blonde boy that was a straggler just like me. Both of us outsiders trying to fit in with the cool kids. My goal was make out with a guy and get a hickey on my neck. At 13 and 14, a hickey was a sign of approaching the big leagues. If the hickey was on your neck it meant someone else gave it to you – no faking it like if you gave yourself one on your arm which we did to practice creating the perfect black and blue mark.

    My innocence lost moment was when Dave (I have no idea if that was blondie’s name but it’s generic so maybe it was) gave me my first hickey. I pretended to hide it from my friends and then would flip my hair back as if in a forgetful split second. Then feigning embarrassment, announce “oh my God, is my hickey noticeable?” I was so totally cool.

    Until the next day as I stood in front of my bathroom mirror brushing my hair and my dad walked in. At that moment I was truly forgetful and he saw the symbol of my coming of age. An inch of a bruise on the side of my neck. My red hot skin tight pants and barely there shirts were fine – but a hickey was where he drew the line.

    He called for my mother to come into the bathroom. “Do you see that?!!!” He turned to me. “You’re a slut!” That stung. What I thought would impress my pseudo-friends was shameful to my father. I wasn’t really a slut (that didn’t happen until college and by then I was sophisticated enough to take ownership of it). All I could say back was “I’m still a good girl!” I wavered between being a child and a young adult depending on the company.

    10553911_10152547075094172_1355684224216340208_o

    Pre-slut photo

    The appeal of showing off a hickey died that day. I avoided “Dave” the next time I saw him. Eventually, I stopped hanging out with the group of wannabe hoodlums (well, some of them really were hoodlums) that didn’t care if I was around anyway.

    That hickey incident was the closest thing to a sex education discussion either one of my parents had with me. I had a healthy fear of sex that seems to have disappeared in young teens of today (I’m sorry if I sound like the church lady from SNL). I experimented and made out with boys, but sex was scary enough that I’m happy to report I waited until my late teens to try it with a serious boyfriend (in my bedroom while my dad was downstairs in the den).

    Reply
    • Jennifer

      This had me rolling in laughter with tears coming down my face. Thanks for sharing your memories. This made my day!!

      Reply
  3. Brett

    I’m marking next year, too!

    “since there is statistically 50 percent less crap to deal with on weekends than on weekdays.”

    I may have to disagree with you on that one 😉

    Reply
    • Jennifer

      Haha!! That’s so funny. I totally get it given your profession!

      Reply

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