Your cart is currently empty!
How Magnum, P.I. Captured My Tomboy Heart
As a child in the 1980s, I distinctly identified as a tomboy—a term I resented because it implied I was somehow less feminine. I was neither girly nor a boy, and the idea of being called a “tomgirl” felt more fitting.
During recess, I immersed myself in games of dodgeball with the boys, which we referred to as “slaughterball” in Eugene, Oregon, circa 1981. We’d dart around the playground, either chasing or dodging the ball, and when the competition heated up, we would shout, “Facial disgracial!” On occasion, I would join the girls on the monkey bars, performing tricks like penny drops. They often inquired why I preferred playing with boys, but I had no real explanation other than simple compatibility.
At home, life was simpler. Living on a dead-end street, I mostly interacted with the neighborhood boys. We would gather in the space between two houses, where one of the kids had a sleek, black Darth Vader-shaped carrying case for Star Wars action figures. Our imaginative play would unfold along the stone retaining wall and beneath the rhododendron bushes. The only other girl in the area typically claimed the Princess Leia figure, while I settled for the quirky extras from Buck Rogers.
We were the quintessential grubby kids of free-range parents, playing until dusk and returning home covered in dirt and famished. My mother often cooked something involving zucchini and cottage cheese, a reminder of our family structure before my parents’ impending divorce.
“Did you have fun?” she would ask.
“Yes! We played freeze tag and Star Wars. Can I watch TV?” I would respond, and more often than not, she would agree, as I was rarely inside.
Thursday nights were sacred for me—Magnum, P.I. was a must-watch. My heart raced as I eagerly anticipated the opening scene. I would lounge on the brown and gold shag carpet, propping my chin in my hands, captivated by the theme music and the sight of T.C.’s striped helicopter. When Tom Selleck turned toward the camera, my pulse quickened, and I felt butterflies in my stomach.
Whenever he shared the screen with a woman in a bikini, I would blush, not fully grasping why the show affected me so profoundly. My father would tease, “You got a thing for Tom?”
“Nu-uh! Of course not!” I would scoff, though my heart secretly fluttered for Magnum, not Tom.
Reflecting back, I now understand what drew me to him: he exuded safety. There was no threat in my admiration; his playful antics coupled with his lovable, bumbling nature made him relatable. I didn’t yet comprehend feelings of inadequacy, but I could easily envision being friends with him. I could indulge in a harmless crush without fear of judgment, basking in the charm of his eyebrows, mustache, Ferrari, and the fantasy of sea kayaking alongside him.
Indeed, Magnum/Tom was my first crush, the one who truly pierced through my tomboy armor. And he was a good one, indeed.
For further insights on the journey of home insemination, check out this related post on our blog. Additionally, for tips on enhancing fertility, visit this resource on fertility supplements.
Summary
In this reflective piece, the author recounts her childhood as a tomboy in the 1980s, highlighting her experiences with neighborhood boys, imaginative play, and the significant impact of the television show Magnum, P.I. on her developing sense of self and crush on Tom Selleck’s character. The narrative explores themes of identity, safety in admiration, and the innocence of childhood affection.