Born in the Wrong Era

When I was a little girl watching reruns of Leave it to Beaver, Happy Days, and Father Knows Best, I just knew that I had been born in the wrong time. I should have been born in the Fifties. I wanted to wear full skirts, penny loafers, and pedal pushers. I wanted to wear high-waisted bathing suits and wear red lipstick while sunbathing.

I still do. 

All of this might explain the fascination that my not-quite-5 year old has with the Eighties. She wants to wear neon colors and side ponies. Srunchies and slouchy socks. Most of all, more than anything, she wants to listen to Michael Jackson and Madonna. She begs to watch videos throughout the evenings. I hear her singing snippets of the songs to herself in the backseat. 

I wonder how this reflects on my parenting. 

I reason that these are not the worst lyrics that she could know, that there is far worse being played on the radio. But is that a good way to judge it? It could be worse?

I don't know. She loves listening and dancing to it, she has no idea what Papa would be preaching about, or why Billie Jean's son is not his. 

For the time being, I guess I will just let it be fun.

And pray that she does not grow up wishing for mom-jeans and crazy shoulder pads. 

Do you ever think that you were born in the wrong era? What era should you have been a part of?