I have known for about an hour now that John Hughes passed away from a heart attack at the age of 59. What I didn't know was how freaked out it would make me.
I was already tender from losing such icons from my childhood as Michael Jackson, Ed McMahon, and Farrah Fawcett.
But John Hughes?
My childhood has been decimated. I am sure in the coming days, people will expound upon what he contributed to our culture. How he captured the essence of being a teenager in the 80s as well as trying to keep it together in the suburbs in the 80s as a child, teen, and parent. To me, he encapsulated how hard it is to balance the parts of us that never want to grow up (Ferris Bueller) against the adults we must become (Clark W. Griswold). He managed to mix enough raunchy fun with equal shares of big heart to endear my generation as teens so much that when we became the grown ups, we shared his movies with our own kids.
And I don't think a day goes by when I don't quote one of his scripts.
So, Mr. Hughes, thank you. Thank you for the fun and the tears. Thank you for contributing to my family's holiday tradition (Christmas Vacation on Thanksgiving every year). Thank you for inspiring me to write real YA characters with faults and heart. Thanks for that God awful dress Andie wore to Prom.
And, thanks for understanding that as a teen, I wanted her to end up with Blane, but now that I'm grown up, I know it should have been Duckie.
I hope in your next life, you get to be a fry cook on Venus.