Today I face the rare opportunity to think about Michael J. Fox. I might be tempted to feel, after searching the internet for a video of him pretending to surf in a werewolf outfit, that I'd be good for a day AT. LEAST. That I'd be all set.
For weeks I've had a scan from my 1986 Camp Joy journal saved on my desktop. I just took a peek, which revealed the results from an interview I conducted of a girl in my cabin, who I happen to remember as Laura P. since she was also the girl on my soccer team, swim team, and bus.
In addition to a kiss-assey paragraph about how Laura P. is generous, helps others in need, always laughs at jokes, and is generally "neat", I answer the next question - How Is This Person Like And/Or Different Than You? - with a full pantsload of shit. I don't remember being an obsequious, fawning child but I'm so far up Laura P.'s ass here that it's painful.
"We are alike because we both like steak, have a dog, want to meet Michael J. Fox, and we both want to stop pollution."
The steak and dog parts? Sure. But Michael J. Fox and pollution? This is clearly a foreshadowing of the social dynamic that would hit us girls the following year, when in 1987 we left our relatively egalitarian Montessori elementary school for the backstabbing clique of junior high, which Laura P. just happened to control.
And APPARENTLY little Ronckytonk was gearing up to play along, which meant liking things like LP liked, like Back to the Future and Family Ties, and wearing too much blue eyeshadow for about two years when all of sudden I didn't care anymore and started looking for nicer friends.
And polluting the earth as much as possible.