I love the 80s and 90s as much as anyone. I grew up in those decades. I remember the smell of sunscreen and lemon juice in my hair (DO NOT TRY THIS). Riding bikes and roller blading everywhere. Even when we were 16+ and had cars. Making up dances in my driveway. Playing tag, making friendship bracelets, playing ghost in the graveyard, swimming at The Westwinds pool, and my parents infamous 4th Of July parties… Camp McVay.
During the summer of Covid my husband and I gave our kids glimpses into our childhoods. We watched old movies from our childhood and had tech-free days. It was beautiful. It reminded me of everything that felt safe and slow and real from my own childhood. I even did a post 2 years ago about giving my kids an 80s and 90s summer.
I shared a post about what college was like in the late 90s and early 2000s. No GPS. No social media. No texting. Just showing up and figuring things out.
But lately something has started to bother me.
Every time I scroll through Instagram, I see the same kind of content. Memes and reels saying “Take me back to the 80s summer” or “Nothing compares to a 90s childhood.” I get it. I’ve said some of it too.
But what is this constant nostalgia teaching our kids?
What are they supposed to think when they keep seeing that their generation doesn’t measure up? That everything was better before them? That our summers were golden and theirs are too plugged in or too fast or too much?
It is so easy to look back and romanticize. To cherry-pick the good moments and forget things. There is nothing wrong with reminiscing. I love it. I find so much joy in watching old movies with my girls or introducing them to things like Lite-Brites and mixtapes. My 90’s and early 2000’s fashion. I believe in no-tech afternoons and water balloon fights and board games and card games on vacation.
But I also believe in being right here. In their summer. The one they will remember. The one that’s happening now. I’ve become so tired of the constant criticism aimed at Gen Z and Alpha Generation. These generations are not weak, they’re wise. They set boundaries. They value empathy and inclusivity. They question outdated systems instead of blindly following them. They care about mental health and aren’t afraid to speak up. Instead of tearing them down, maybe it’s time we start learning from them. After all, they’re not trying to go back, they’re trying to build better.
Their summers they will look back and laugh about trends we don’t understand. They will get nostalgic about things we never think twice about. They will remember their version of summer and it will matter. But only if we let it.
Only if we stop comparing and start fully showing up.
We can take pieces of the past with us. We can bring the slow and the simple into the world we live in now. We can say no to constant scrolling and yes to walks around the neighborhood. We can make popsicles from scratch and sun tea outside on the patio. We can play tag with them outside, and eat dinner outside and lie in the grass naming shapes in the clouds. But we can also let them love their music. We can let them watch their shows. We can let them text and Facetime their friends. We can stop trying to recreate our childhoods and instead support them in building theirs.
There is nothing wrong with honoring the magic of our youth. But there is something very powerful about creating magic right now. With them. In this decade. In this summer.
Because these are their good old days. And we’re a part of them.