We Grew Up Before the World Was Watching

 

Before curfews mattered and before the world got loud—this was us. Laughing under streetlights, sipping whatever we could sneak, and swearing we’d never grow old. We didn’t know it yet, but those nights would stay with us forever.

We were born in the 80s—back when phones had cords, TVs had knobs, and Saturday morning cartoons and bowls of cereal in front of the tv were sacred.

We were raised in the 90s, where our hair was big, our jeans were baggy, and our lives were anything but small.

We made mixtapes—real ones—waiting with our fingers on the record button,

trying to catch our favorite song on the radio without the DJ talking over it.

We flipped through cassette tapes, then CDs, burned our own playlists long before Spotify existed.

And somewhere along the way, our Walkmans turned into iPods,

and now everything’s just… an app.

We were the generation that had to grow with the world, not ahead of it.

We didn’t come with manuals or screen time limits.

We were latchkey kids with Pop-Tarts and VCRs, raising ourselves on streetlights and instinct.

Our friendships lived in person, in cul-de-sacs and school cafeterias, on late-night calls where you had to drag the phone into the closet so not to get caught.

We played in the schoolyards after dark,

daring curfews to catch us.

When the cops circled by, we ducked behind dumpsters, not because we were bad kids—but because we weren’t ready to go home yet.

We lived at the skating rink on Friday nights—

where the lights spun like magic and every slow song felt like a love story waiting to happen.

We were wild in the best way.

Free in a way the world doesn’t feel anymore.

Now, we’re the grown-ups—the ones with bills, kids, deadlines, and calendars.

But sometimes, when a certain song plays

or the night air hits just right, we’re back there again.

Back to when life was loud and messy and alive—before the world started watching,

before the weight of everything settled on our shoulders.

Back when we didn’t overthink every move.

When we lived in the moment without needing to capture it.

We were the FAFO generation.

The last of the untamed youth.

And we carry it still, somewhere in us—in every burned CD that still lives in a shoebox,

in every memory of neon lights and gravel under our sneakers, in every version of ourselves we’ve been along the way.

We didn’t just grow up.

We changed with the world.

And somehow, we’re still here—

a little softer, a little wiser,

but still chasing wind in our hair

and a song we can’t quite name.