I am the product of my generation.  I was born in the late ’70s and spent my youth playing Ms. Pacman on the family Atari, listening to Michael Jackson, crushing on Fred Savage, ratting my hair, and French-cuffing my jeans.  My nights were spent at the skating rink where wearing a specific colored t-shirt got you in for free and Bon Jovi’s “Living On a Prayer” and Van Halen’s “Jump” sent spasms of joy through my prepubescent body.  Weekends were spent at the public pool or at the movies where my aunt Eva, a mere five years older than me, selected films like Desperately Seeking Susan and Say Anything for the two of us to view.  Although I don’t recall the first John Hughes film I watched, I was intrigued by the secret world of teenagers.  Their complex relationships and disdain for authority figures kept me wanting to know more.  Would Andie and Blane reconcile at prom, or would Duckie step in and steal her heart?  Would another Saturday detention session be enough to eliminate the stereotypes associated with the brain, the athlete, the basket case, the princess, and the criminal?  How many more movies would Molly Ringwald and Anthony Michael Hall star in together?  What happened to Grandpa’s automobile after the Donger crashed it into a lake — a very big lake?  Who coined the phrase “The Brat Pack”?

Despite being too young to understand the underlying meaning of Hughes films at the time of their release, I was wholly entertained.  Jake Ryan was the high school equivalent of a Greek god.  Samantha Baker was red-headed, flat-chested, and freckled.  She was the most unlikely character to get the guy.  Yet, she did.  What could be more romantic than sitting on top of a table full of cake wearing a bridesmaid dress while the guy of your dreams leans in to give you your very first kiss?  And foreign exchange students — Long Duk Dong was the coolest.  In fact, he was the first to ask, “What’s happening, hot stuff?”  I wanted my very own Donger to visit over the holidays!

Hughes was a genius in the way he defined a generation.  Neo-Maxi-Zoom-Dweebies could relate to the producer’s characters Brian and Farmer Ted.  Misfits like Watts, Bryce, Duckie, and Wease could find their place in the world by uniting with others in record stores, at school dances, or while playing the drums.  Despite being razzed by their peers, these characters were true to their intentions — once a nerd, always a nerd.

Even Joan Cusack was adorably geeky in her bit role in Sixteen Candles.  That neck brace really gave her character depth.  Who doesn’t feel awkward in high school?  A mouth full of head-gear often did the trick for most of the kids I knew growing up.  Hughes captured every angst-filled moment in his films correctly.  Who would have guessed that even the legendary Amanda Jones had grown up “on the wrong side of the tracks”?

When rumor had it that the sequel to The Breakfast Club was in the works, I literally groaned.  How could they?  Who were they planning on casting?  Hadn’t Shermer High School seen its fair share of juvenile delinquents?  Whose wardrobe would Bender accuse Mr. Vernon of raiding this time around?  Has anyone heard from Emilio Estevez lately?

Hughes’s death over the summer left me feeling monumentally sad.  The man was gifted and his movies continue to bring me joy to this day.  In a strange way, I kind of wish he would have finished the sequel to The Breakfast Club. At 59, the man still had a lot to offer his fans.

Don’t worry, John Hughes. We won’t forget about you.