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The ’90s Were F*cking Wild
Reflecting on the good old days that turned bad, for our own benefit.
The year was somewhere around 1992, I just landed a sweet new Batman big wheel and Nintendo, based on my ability to make it through preschool without any real dilemmas — unless you count falling asleep during graduation and saying “shank you” instead of thank you upon receiving my kiddie diploma.
I was half asleep, cut a kid a break.
I spent the majority of my days at my Grandmom’s back then while my Dad worked. It was in a neighborhood you probably couldn’t pay me to live in today — but I look back on those days with nothing but the fondest of fucked up memories.
When I do happen to pass through it or discuss it today, it’s with a slightly sly but subtle nervous smile. Because that’s what the ’90s do to me internally.
Reflecting on them makes me smile. There are moments that live in those memories that make me laugh until I cry real tears, without fail. Ones I wouldn’t sell you and couldn’t have bought.
The kind of fond ones I’ve paid for in an immense amount of pain and loss.
Losses that only the ’90s could have brought us, like Joe Carter taking Mitch Williams deep for the walk-off I’m still trying to walk off and fully forget…
