Fourth Grade, circa 1970’s:

Bell bottom jeans, Teen Beat Magazine, Love’s Baby Soft perfume and Pop Rocks.

But, mostly, the seventies were about the Farrah Feather and our beloved boy pop stars.
For those who don’t remember the Farrah Feather, it involved big, round brushes and turbo hairdryers. The result: hair so flawlessly feathered it formed what looked like a butt-crack, right down the back of our nearly shellacked with hairspray heads.

On good hair days, we put our comically large Goody combs in the leg pocket of our bell bottomed painter pants and walked off, oh so cool, in our Nike Cortez sneakers, our satin jackets swishing. We’d find a place on the playground and talk and giggle about Andy Gibb, Leif Garrett and Shaun Cassidy.

We bought their albums, wore their tee shirts and plastered our walls with their posters. We never imagined what time would do to our beloved one-boy bands.

Now we know.