My name is Samuel, and I am a writer who grew up in the Fort Worth barrio known as the North Side. After that, there isn't much to tell. I'm a product of the 1980's, and I have the cartoon theme songs rattling around in my head to prove it. Being that we lived in a bad neighborhood, I was one of those kids that was kept inside and fed a diet of cartoons, movies, comic books, WWF wrestling, and video games. Oh, and don't get me started on toys.
While this isn't going to be your standard nostalgia site (I won't be reviewing Hostess Turtle Pies), I will be posting photographs and scans of random things and talking about them. Also, I will make observations from time to time. These observations won't be what you're thinking. There will be no bashing of today's kids, as I don't think I'm quite the "get off my lawn" age yet.
As for the photo, I'll have to say this was around late 1989 and early 1990. I was in the second grade when my dog had her puppies. I remember this because it was all I could talk about the next day in Mrs. Caldwell's class, even if she didn't want to hear it. It was my first year attending a public school (the private school I was going to had been shut down), and there was a big difference in teaching styles, as well as personality styles. Mrs. Caldwell was a disciplinarian, a remnant from the old school that was thought to have been wiped out by then. Our school had a halhearted attempt at a yearbook. They stapled pages together and put the names of every class and every student and teacher in it. No pictures, just text. I thought I'd extend the olive branch to my captor by letting her sign my stapled pages. I think the authoritarian wrote something like, "You need to work on your times tables." Ugh.
That's our old Mercury Bobcat in the background. The backseat would fold down to give us access to the trunk from the inside of the car. For some reason I would sit on that instead of in the seat on long trips out of town. I don't really know what happened to the car after this picture. I know by then my dad had his big 89 Oldsmobile, and my mom had a sleek 82 Trans-Am. No one drove the Bobcat anymore, so they just kept it in the backyard.
Also, there are grass stains on my jeans. My mom used to get really mad about it, but I never listened and continued to play on my knees outside. I understand now it's because she paid money for my clothes and I'd just go out and ruin them by horsing around on the ground. Also, I'm pretty sure she didn't want the neighbors thinking I was some kind of latchkey child.
I couldn't tell you what t-shirt that is because I honestly don't remember. I zoomed in on the original high-rez scan, and it looks like some sort of Animaniacs shirt, but they didn't exist yet.