Growing up in the ’80s, I was anything but your typical girl. I was a tomboy, a label I secretly resented because it suggested I was somehow less feminine. I often wondered why there wasn’t a term like “tomgirl” to describe girls like me.
Recess was my playground, where I thrived in games of dodgeball—known as slaughterball in Eugene, Oregon, back then. My friends and I would dart around, either hurling the ball or dodging it, always caught up in the thrill of competition. If things got intense, we’d shout, “Facial disgracial!” I occasionally joined the girls on the monkey bars, attempting daring stunts like penny drops. But deep down, I felt more at home with the boys, although I couldn’t quite articulate why.
Life on my quiet street was also simpler. With only boys in my neighborhood, we’d gather in the space between two houses, creating epic Star Wars scenarios using action figures. One of the boys had a cool Darth Vader carrying case, while I usually snagged characters like Twiki from Buck Rogers. We were free-range kids long before anyone coined the term. As dusk approached, we’d return home, covered in dirt and starving, while my mom prepared a peculiar dish of zucchini and cottage cheese. Back then, our family was intact, though the shadow of divorce loomed closer.
“Did you have fun?” my mom would ask.
“Yeah, we played freeze tag and Star Wars. Can I watch TV?” I’d eagerly reply, and she seldom denied me that request, as my indoor time was rare.
Thursday evenings were sacred; they were reserved for Magnum, P.I. I would never miss the opening sequence. My eyes would follow T.C.’s helicopter as my body swayed to the catchy theme music. I’d lie on the brown and gold shag carpet, chin resting in my hands, eagerly anticipating the moment when Tom Selleck turned to the camera. When he flashed that signature eyebrow raise while holding a bikini-clad woman, my cheeks would flush. I didn’t quite understand my fascination, but I felt butterflies every time Magnum appeared.
“Got a thing for Tom?” my dad would tease.
“Nu-uh! Of course not!” I’d retort, even though in my heart, I knew it was really about Magnum, not Tom.
Looking back, it’s clear why he captured my heart—he represented safety. There was no peril in my admiration, and his shorts, which seemed scandalously short now, felt innocent back then. He blended charm with a touch of goofiness, and his playful banter with Higgins made him relatable. I could imagine knowing him, feeling my heart race without fear of rejection. My tomboyish ways were never questioned, and I could indulge in daydreams of cruising in his Ferrari or kayaking with him.
Yes, Magnum—Tom Selleck—was my first crush, effortlessly piercing through my tomboy heart, and for that, I’ll always be grateful.
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Summary
My childhood as a tomboy was marked by playful adventures and an unexpected crush on Magnum, P.I. The show gave me a safe space to explore feelings and fantasies, while also allowing me to embrace my unique identity. As I reflect on those moments, I appreciate the innocence and joy that shaped my early years.