9.5.14

That's What Friends Are For



I’m captivated by the Channel 10 series Puberty Blues. There are many reasons -  most based on nostalgia - but especially because the friendship between the two main characters reminds me so very much of the friendships of my teen years, particularly the one formed with my first high school ‘bestie.’  The hair styles and wardrobe matches are scarily close:  Staggers jeans, snug little "Tommy" (the rock opera) tee shirt, Converse hi-tops and Sportsgirl tote, anyone?

Teen friendship is in a class of its own.  ("Puberty Blues" Photo courtesy Network 10)
Lesley and I began secondary school in the same class, still ‘hanging’ with girls we knew from our previous schools.  Yet just a week into Year 8, following a series of exchanged glances and smiles, we claimed a double desk for ourselves, and sat together in class for the next three years (not including the brief teacher-enforced separations familiar to any such twosome).

Our homes were several kilometres apart, in opposite directions, so sometimes when we arrived home, we’d phone each other (back in the days when nobody had a mobile, let alone Facebook) to continue a chat we began at the school gates.  Our mothers muttered in the background “You were with her all day! Whatever do you find to talk about?” 
These were our 'text messages,' kiddies.

It’s intriguing how an earlier generation forgets the depth of a teen girl friendship – unless perhaps, such attachments weren’t as deep in ‘their day?’  Yet literature from earlier eras suggests that teen years friendships are perennially meaningful; their depth seems almost a rite of passage

In truth, we always had something to talk about: everything and nothing.  Even in class, matters that couldn’t wait until lunchtime, would be dealt with via Secret Notes. 
 
In an all-girls school, friendships were probably less complicated, since there were no boys to distract or divide us.  Others may argue the all-female hormonal vibe was gossip fuel in itself.  A fond memory is the simple pleasure of sitting on the school oval at recess or lunch time, uniforms tucked into our knickers as we slathered baby oil on our legs and tried to get a tan happening.  (Side note: The 1970s was pre-sun awareness, a time when radio stations sent dune buggies to beaches to provide free sprays of coconut oil for sunbathers.  On hot days, they'd helpfully broadcast half-hourly reminders to ‘turn over’ to ensure you got an even tan.)

NOT on my turntable. *adds horns*.
Our shared love of music also began as a thing of joy.  In the end, it drove a wedge between us.  The specific culprit, in my eyes, was 1970s popstar John Paul Young.  To quote a lyric from his 1976 hit song I Hate The Music - “the music tore us apart.”

Lesley liked Donny Osmond; my heart belonged to David Cassidy.  She was into Sonny & Cher; I preferred the Jackson Five.  That was fine for a long time, because we both loved Sherbet.   By age 15, when I was into Glam Rock, Lesley became obsessed with John Paul Young - deeply obsessed, for several years to come.  At times, my observations on her fandom were  undiplomatic.  I wondered how anyone could compare “Squeak” (as JPY was known) to Queen, T-Rex, The Sweet or Elton John.

I know ... I know ... but I was 13
Recognise my rage?
  
  












Our music tastes became disparate.  Neither of us cared for the other’s opinion, so of course, began spending more time with friends who had similar musical leanings.  There was no explosive moment and we remained on speaking terms, but I sometimes felt sad that things were never the same, because we had some wonderful times and a lot of great laughs.
 
Perhaps music was simply an allegory for other wants and needs in our lives.

Other friendships come and go, and if you’re lucky, you find even stronger ones as life goes on.  Yet there’s something about the teen years – perhaps puberty combined with the ‘hothouse’ of the classroom and schoolyard – that burns those friendships into your memory.
                                                           
Sherbet .. well, "Garth" as I called it.  Guys with girl hair