Today is the two-year anniversary of my dad’s passing.
The ‘polite me’ feels the need to say, “It gets easier over time,” or “We’re just happy he’s in a better place.” But, no. It sucks. The only sugar-coated saying that has actually resonated with me is, “We’re thankful for the time we had.” Because, if not for him, I wouldn’t be a writer.
It’s November 6th, 1983, in Hawkins, Indiana.
Some lab dude is getting inexplicably eaten by a faceless monster. Lights are blinking. Sounds are happening. Aaaaaaand...cue the intro music and floaty red letters.
Welcome to arguably the best 80s show made post Y2K.
Perhaps you’re like me, and have watched it too many times. Or perhaps you’re crazy and have never seen it. Or heard of Netflix.
If you’re the latter, consider this a PSA.
If you ever daydreamed of being a Goonie and playing piano bones to open mysterious passages, “Stranger Things” is for you.
If you ever watched Poltergeist and wondered what happened to Carol Anne after she got sucked in the closet, “Stranger Things” is for you.
And if you ever wagged your finger at “youngsters” preaching about the good old days of bicycles and walkie-talkies, then “Stranger Things” is most definitely for you, my friend.