Patio Pondering: The Class of ’89 and Watching From the Right Side Up

Today is a cloudy day here in northeast Indiana. The backyard landscaping is covered in snow, and our water feature is fighting off the freeze as it continues to bubble. The view from the patio is calm and peaceful as I enjoy my coffee.

This week marked the end of the Stranger Things series. As I watched the seasons unfold, something struck me. It was more than the 1980s references that we Gen Xers felt viscerally. It was more than the music. It was something else.

That something hit me in the waning minutes of the final episode when the words “Class of 1989” were spoken.

I was in the Class of 1989 at Northrop High School.

After the credits rolled and I started to process what we had just watched, the other shoe dropped. Stranger Things hit me so hard because I am now the age of the parents. Hopper. Joyce. Ted. Karen. They were all standing in the same place I find myself today, with children finishing their high school lives and beginning to spread their wings into college and “real” jobs.

I lived through my own version of Stranger Things, albeit without the Mind Flayer, Demogorgons, or Vecna. I had friends immersed in Dungeons and Dragons. Mid-1970s Camaros sat in the parking lot. I knew the unmistakable aroma of Aqua Net.

The bikes, the basements, the music were never really the point. What caught me off guard was realizing I am no longer watching the story from the seat of a kid pedaling home before dark. I am watching it from the porch, hoping everyone makes it home safely.

Maybe that is why this series lingered with me. Not because it reminded me of who I was, but because it revealed, quietly and almost unexpectedly, who I have become.