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When I was a teenager, I fell head over heels for my first crush, thanks in part to the iconic performances of actors like Molly Ringwald. Growing up with older siblings, I got an early dose of the Brat Pack, binge-watching classics like “Pretty in Pink” and “Sixteen Candles” far more often than I care to admit. I envisioned myself as Samantha Baker, perched on that enchanting table as Jake Ryan leaned in for a kiss, the soft candlelight casting a glow on his perfect features. Long before I actually hit my teenage years, I was already an aficionado of teenage angst, immersing myself in those films.
These teen romance movies became my guides to understanding love. I scrutinized the fashion choices, memorized the witty one-liners, and practiced the perfectly timed blinks that preceded a first kiss. Each viewing was an exercise in empathy; I stepped into the shoes of the characters. When the lead was left alone at the dance, I felt the weight of heartbreak; when love finally blossomed, my spirits soared alongside hers.
My fascination didn’t stop with Molly. I could practically recite every line from Patrick Dempsey in “Can’t Buy Me Love,” so it’s no surprise that my first love had a lawn-mowing business. I often imagined us riding off into the sunset on his mower, taking his beloved hat to tame my unruly blonde locks.
Yet, it’s no longer the 1990s, and I’m no longer the high school girl who memorized her crush’s schedule to “accidentally” bump into him. I didn’t end up marrying any Teen Beat heartthrobs plastered on my bedroom walls, but I did find my own prince charming. Now, I watch these films with my own teens.
I’ve introduced my 16-year-old son to some of my all-time favorites (those that don’t seem too outdated). Occasionally, we explore newer films that have garnered attention on social media. Recently, he suggested “Spontaneous,” a movie described as an “American science fiction romantic black comedy.”
Without giving anything away, I can confirm that each of those descriptors is spot on. However, I should also mention that the ending was universally panned by both of us. The film did feature a romantic plot that my younger self would have adored, complete with stolen kisses, a charming dance sequence, and a perfectly curated soundtrack.
But something unexpected happened as I watched. Instead of experiencing the story through the eyes of the young protagonists, I found myself viewing it through the lens of a parent. Rather than swooning over a sweet barn dance, I pondered whether her parents were anxious about her late return home. When some parents in the film received devastating news about their child, I felt a visceral sense of grief. It was a bizarre experience, still engaging in that empathetic exercise but now for the adult characters.
Perhaps this shift in perspective stemmed from watching alongside my son, leading me to focus too intently on seizing every teaching moment. “I hope they’re being safe,” I whispered during a more intimate scene, catching my son’s eye-roll even in the dim light.
Part of this perspective change is likely due to the fact that many contemporary teen films tackle heavier topics like mental health and the trials of adolescence. While my favorites like “The Breakfast Club” brushed on these themes, they never felt as prominent through my youthful lens, which was more focused on John Bender’s cheeky charm. Now, through the lens of motherhood, I see those darker elements taking center stage, especially as I worry about my sons navigating a post-pandemic world.
But it’s not just the films that have evolved; I have, too. Motherhood has amplified my protective instincts and emotions. My worries have grown, encompassing serious consequences, illnesses, and heartbreak. I can’t help but think of my sons, who are ready to explore relationships and the larger world, when I watch these movies. Once, I was the girl eager to take on the world; now, my priority is ensuring the world is safe for my adventurous teens.
Since this change in perspective, I haven’t revisited the beloved films of my youth. I’m not ready to watch “Sixteen Candles” again through the eyes of Brenda Baker, the overwhelmed mother who forgot her daughter’s birthday. If I were to view “Can’t Buy Me Love” from a parental viewpoint, would I sympathize with Cindy Mancini’s mom as she mourns her ruined suede jacket? I sincerely hope not; I still want to relive those carefree moments on the back of that mower, where everything always ends happily.
For now, I’ll continue to watch alongside my son, even if this perspective shift has dulled some of the carefree joy of those films for me. I’ll also try to hold back on offering unsolicited parental advice, so I don’t dampen his enjoyment. My heart will still ache for the struggling parents on screen, wishing for their children—much like my own—to find their happy endings, or at least several memorable moments accompanied by a perfect soundtrack.
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Summary
Watching teen movies through a parental lens offers a fresh perspective, transforming the joyous experiences of youth into moments filled with concern and empathy. As a mother, the focus shifts from the excitement of teenage romance to the worries about safety and well-being. This evolution in perspective highlights how both films and personal experiences shape our understanding of adolescence and parenthood.
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Teen movies, parenting perspective, nostalgia, teen romance films, motherhood, contemporary cinema, mental health in films, parental concerns.