As I write this, all the kids in our neighborhood are going back to school after the Labor Day long weekend. Remember when “back to school” didn’t mean battling through three hours of Target checkout lines while trying to convince your kid that no, they do not need a $200 graphing calculator in Grade 3? Yeah. Back in the 1970s, back-to-school season was the event of the year—and we were deliriously excited about it.
First, the supplies. New pencil crayons. New erasers that smelled like industrial-strength pink rubber. Maybe even a brand-new binder if last year’s hadn’t been chewed to death by some mystery animal living in your locker. We didn’t have cellphones, tablets, or laptops. The closest thing to “tech” we had was the Trapper Keeper, and that was basically just a binder on steroids with Velcro. And we thought it was the coolest thing since sliced Wonder Bread.
Then there was the lunchbox. Forget your sleek, high-impact plastic hydroflask lifestyle accessories—our lunchboxes were metal, had thermoses that leaked milk every single time, and were decorated with superheroes, cartoons, or—if you were tragically unlucky—whatever was on sale. (Nothing says “social death” quite like showing up with a Holly Hobbie lunchbox when everyone else had Star Wars.)
And oh, the friends. Remember, this was the Dark Ages. No social media. No texting. Not even email. Once school let out in June, unless your friend lived on the same block, you basically dropped off the face of the earth. By September, seeing them again felt like a reunion episode of a long-running soap opera. “Oh my God, you grew two inches!” “Oh my God, you got braces!” “Oh my God, you still have that Holly Hobbie lunchbox?”
So yes, going back to school in the ’70s wasn’t about updated apps or Wi-Fi access. It was about the smell of fresh pencils, the thrill of a new outfit that probably had polyester somewhere in its DNA, and the nervous, wonderful excitement of stepping back into the chaos.
And frankly? I wouldn’t trade it for a Chromebook.
So tell me—what was your most embarrassing back-to-school accessory? (C’mon, you know you had one. Bonus points if it involved corduroy.)
Mark