I missed the Eighties. Despite being born in 1978 and raised just 20 minutes outside of L.A., I managed never to see Magic Johnson’s famous hook shot that brought the Lakers to victory over the Celtics in 1987. In fact, if a Trivial Pursuit title were in the balance, I probably wouldn’t have been able even to name that classic ‘80s rivalry. Until a couple of months ago, when life gave me a second chance at my most formative decade.

Has anyone else noticed this curious reprisal of history? Transformers came out last year; Indiana Jones came out this year; the Lakers and Celtics are making media moguls dance with glee; and narrow-leg black pants have made a come-back (for better or for worse). If Bill Clinton had been the president of the ‘80s instead of Reagan, I’m convinced that the forces of destiny would have swept Hillary in without resistance this year. But in the midst of all of this, I have to admit that I’m experiencing most of it for the first time.

There’s a simple explanation for this: we didn’t have a TV growing up, and my most common (and beloved!) form of entertainment was playing records of South Pacific and Camelot on my parents’ record player. I kid you not-I knew how to clean and replace those needles by the age of 10. So while my peers were experiencing their childhood, I was largely experiencing my parents’ nostalgia for the ‘60s. And now, as a 29-year-old, I am finally experiencing what is shaping up to be my husband’s nostalgia for the ‘80s.

My tutorial in my childhood began last summer when, amid addressing wedding announcements and setting up our first apartment, Dave made one of his few non-negotiable requests: that we see Transformers. On opening night. When I displayed a glint of skepticism, he said, “Oh Naomi, giant robots! Fighting each other!” The nine-year-old in him proved irresistible, and I can now speak confidently of Optimus Prime and Bumblebee.

Fast forward to a week and a half ago. Dave had put the opening night of Indiana Jones on our family calendar back in March, and by 8:15, we were in line for our 9:00 show, jockeying for position with a lot of people just like us-twenty- and thirty-somethings who looked like they’d join in if anyone busted out with “Dun duh-dun dun, dun duh-dun” (which, though tempted, we didn’t). But since I hadn’t actually seen Raiders of the Lost Ark, the reappearance of some key characters left me nonplussed (who is that brunette, and why didn’t they choose someone younger?), and I didn’t fully appreciate all of the classic cameos of the Indiana Jones franchise (read: the great abundance of very large, life-threatening insects).

As for the Celtics, I saw my first full game a couple of weeks ago when they beat the Pistons in Game 3, advancing a step closer to fulfilling the fantasies of every basketball-loving child of the ‘80s out there. But until Dave showed me the Top 10 plays of the 1987 games, I didn’t realize what a big deal this is-or how grateful I am that the NBA has since mandated longer shorts.

As Dave and I have reflected on this funny collision of past and present, I’ve realized that I am experiencing all of this as spectacle rather than nostalgia. Consequently, I don’t get too up in arms about how far short the Kingdom of the Crystal Skull has fallen vis-à-vis Raiders. I experience it for what it is-another summer popcorn movie in a market somewhat jaded from too many adventure flicks. Harrison Ford is always worth $9, right? And the fact that the NBA finals could likely end at Game 4 with a clean sweep by the Lakers doesn’t depress me as much as it otherwise could. But I also don’t appreciate the evolution of these childhood classics-the way computer graphics has transformed movie-making, the changing game of basketball. When Optimus Prime is conquering evil in the mind-machine interface of the 2030 remake, I may experience a bit of nostalgia. But for now, it’s just something else to blog about. So at the conclusion of this Fast Sunday, I’d like to offer a little thank-imony of my own. I’m thankful for my encyclopedic knowledge of Rogers and Hammerstein musicals. But I’m also thankful for the chance to gain the same cultural vocabulary as my peers. And on this (roughly) one-year anniversary of our engagement, I’m thankful for my live-in tutor of a husband who selflessly spent hours of his childhood filling himself up with all of the pop culture that I would later need.

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