Sixteen Candles Burning With Truth

Did Molly Ringwald matter then? Does she matter now? And could the Dawn of a woman’s truth change me? Yep!

Molly Ringwald was the 80’s. You could not walk by a magazine rack without seeing her on the cover of something. John Hughes may have created the Brat Pack and the movies they starred in, but she was the center of that universe.

She struck a chord with teenage girls. Sixteen Candles (1984), The Breakfast Club (1985), and Pretty in Pink (1986). They came, they saw, they bought funky vintage second hand clothes and dyed their hair.

Her movies and her fashion inspired a generation for the greater part of the decade.

But besides the Teen Beat and Vogue covers, hit movies, and fashion icon, there was more. She mattered to young women and inspired them.

In a New York Magazine article in 2004, Journalist Michael Agger said the actress had something special that film and television critic Pauline Kael described as “charismatic normality.”

“If you were white and suburban and insecure, you came to the theater and saw yourself,” he wrote.

In a time where pop culture used women as props for the male gaze it was important for someone to gaze back. Her intense gaze and confidant smile was needed for many. It was important for girls to see themselves.

Girls who did not fit in found in her the ability to create and craft their own unique blend. They also knew it was okay to have frustrations, felt left out, and seek your voice.

She was given the creative freedom to include herself into Hughes’ movies. And that unlikely authenticity shined and inspired despite some problematic content.

This may not be as profound to on the surface as some of the groundbreaking things done by Cyndi Lauper, Tina Turner, Joan Jett, or Madonna. But for someone who felt lost and out of place, little things like that matter.

As far as the problematic things? Molly would address things about then in a manner that would inspire the way I look at nostalgia.

In the wake of the MeToo movement she wrote a groundbreaking article for the New Yorker in 2018. She looks at the Breakfast Club and 16 Candles honestly regarding the problematic content in it. She also speaks about the dichotomy of John Hughes as being sensitive and having a blind spot to sexism and rape culture.

There is little I can say that has not already been said in response to this article, but it started important conversations about the nuance of nostalgia.

A year before this article she wrote another article for the New Yorker called “All the Other Harvey Weinsteins.” The following is just one except of a career filled with moments like these.

“When I was thirteen a 50-year-old crew member told me that he would teach me to dance, and then proceeded to push against me with an erection. When I was 14, a married film director stuck his tongue in my mouth on set.”

As a child and teen who modeled, I have my own horror stories, but nothing on the level of young teens in Hollywood and cover girls like Brooke Shields. She gave us a dark side and also nuance in gratitude for what messages she could give teen girls then and now. And now, what she does matters.

She is fiercely liberal and feminist on X, in speeches, and on campaign trails with key politicians that are truly trying to affect change.

In my Junior and Senior year of high school I was in the school Speech Team. Some of you may think it is sort of social. Demented and sad, but social. It had many events. Solo acting, duets, original comedy, extemporaneous, radio, and poetry.

I competed in multiple events to help the team earn more points, but poetry was where I excelled. As a boy I had an advantage with the coaches. There were not many boys reciting poetry. The other advantage was I loved poetry and it showed in my performative readings of it.

I also had a secret weapon. I had memorized dozens of poems and if the vibe was right, my book was a prop and I could pivot my plays in competition like a quarterback calling an audible based on a vibe.

One Saturday my team met at the school lot at 6:30 in the morning to board a bus to a competition in Oswego, Illinois. Speech teams from all over the region were assembled and ready to compete.

In the first round of poetry readings I sat in a small classroom with the judge in back. She called up the first contestant from Naperville. Her name was Dawn and I knew I was in trouble.

She stepped up to the front of the class with messy red hair, ruby lips, and an outfit straight out of Molly Ringwald’s closet. Layered second hand clothes, a funky hat with a flower in it, brooch, bracelets, beaded necklaces, and old brown leather boots standing at 6 feet tall walked up. She delivered poetry on a scale that was in a league of it’s own.

She opened with Plath, transitioned to Browning, and closed strong with Dickenson. Her cadence, her pauses, her clarity, and her emoting was the best I had ever seen. Today was a race for second, but I was going to call an audible and throw a hail mary pass. I did not have time to think, though. My name was called. I was so screwed.

What I had in my book was not going to work. I dipped into my favorite, Poe. I opened light with El Dorado, showed some darkness with Eulalie and closed with Dreams to embrace the dichotomy.

The whole time I recited I stared at Dawn mesmerized by her skill and her look. I lost a few points for not turning the pages. She gazed back and smiled.

After the round she was first out the door into the hall and I caught up to her fast.

“Dawn, right?” I asked.

She kept walking. With her heeled boots she had 4 inches on me. She looked down as she continued walking briskly and said, “Yes.”

“Congratulations!” I said. She looked at me confused. “Unless you get kidnapped and held hostage at the Lithuanian embassy today, you won. That was amazing.”

She stopped and looked at me. “Really? This is my first time. I was so nervous!”

My teammate for the next event, Deanna, called my name and waved me over to her down the hall. I looked at Dawn, smiled, and as I left said, “Love the outfit!” She yelled back, “If Don Johnson ever needs a stunt double, you’re hired!”

Later in the day there was a meal break in the lunch room. I was about to join my teammates when I saw Dawn sitting by herself. I walked over and asked if I could sit down. She shrugged. As I sat down, I saw some people from her team looking at us. She noticed too and I saw her stiffen up.

“So why poetry, Dawn?”

“The women amaze me. Before suffrage and women’s lib there were women getting published and recognized. And it was not just pretty flowers and butterflies. It was symbolic, powerful and scandalous. How those voices ended up being household names in a man’s world is a miracle! And you?”

I had never told anyone else this. In school everyone thought I was doing it for the points. “There was a woman named Marilyn who owns a bookstore I used to know. I would work at her store and she would pay me in books.” She scrunched her brow at this, I continued. “Anyway, we had this deal. She gave me poetry books from time to time and they spoke to me. I don’t know. I just feel them. And when I have certain moods I read them. But if I have a mood and I am not by my books, then what? So I memorized them. They are always with me.”

There was a silence as she gazed at me and I was uncomfortable. So I switched the topic.

“So the outfit! Molly Ringwald fan?” She reached into her bag and pulled out 2 magazines with Molly Ringwald on the cover, smiled, and said, “Yeah.” There was a hint of a blush.

“Why?”

“Being tall is hard. I don’t fit in in Naperville. And seeing her and how she dresses, I don’t know, I can be myself and go to thrift stores and put stuff together and sew things and I feel pretty. My mom helps me and we get to do it together and she takes me to the movies because…” she stopped.

“Because what, Dawn?”

Her lower lip trembled. “Because I don’t have friends here, okay? We moved here and I hate it here…” And the tears came and she stood and walked away fast. I saw her teammates giggle and point. I recognized one from a church youth group I went to. The Godly princess was leader of the bullies.

I would not see Dawn until the awards. She won. No one from her team applauded, but other teams did and so did I.

We all piled into our busses. I looked at my window and her bus was next to mine. I smiled and waved at her. She looked sad, but waved back and held up her small trophy. I gave a thumbs up and made a silly face. She giggled, the busses moved on.

Competition after competition I would seek her out and we would talk. She always Molly Vibed and I was always an extra in Miami Vice. The mean girls left her alone and that gave us time to talk. Molly was not her only hero, but she was the only hero she dressed like. She owned it. She created it. It was just her and her mom and she had to work to help make ends meet in their section 8 apartment in Naperville.

It was hard being poor in an affluent community and I could see how she felt a connection to Andie in Pretty in Pink. She told me she had made a friend who was short and the two of them got made fun of for being different and differently sized. But it was nice to have a friend again.

As we approached Spring, she asked me if I wanted to take her to prom. I told her I had a girlfriend. I could see that it took a lot for her to ask me that and I knew what it felt like to be where she was at. Had I known a month or two before that she was interested, we probably would have gone to prom. Things got awkward after that.

Then came summer and senior year.

In my first event senior year, she was there. We had not seen each other in months and we hugged. She made a joke that I make polo and cigarettes work. I asked her if she still had her new friend. She said yes. She was still rocking her unique and inspired look and I had mine and we enjoyed each others company. Spring came. She asked me if I still had a girlfriend.

“No.”

“So…prom?”

“Dawn,” I started. “Can I take you to prom?”

“I asked you first! I’m a modern woman, silly!”

“Yes! But only if I can finally get your phone number.”

“You never asked me for it.” She said as she reached into her bag and wrote her number with pink magic marker on a sheet of paper. She leaned down, gave me a kiss on the cheek and walked off grinning.

We had some phone calls that were a lot of fun and we went to a park in Naperville called the Riverwalk a few times. We were not dating but we were exploring. Sometimes it felt like a date and other times it felt like we were friends hanging out. I let it flow because I liked both realities.

I was learning a lot about women in history and cinema from her. I could barely get a word in edgewise sometimes but I did not mind. We did not get to hang out very often because of her work schedule. Her mom was not comfortable with her coming to my house and she was embarrassed to have me come see where she lived.

Then came a three day weekend at my school. I was going to go white water rafting with some friends. That trip got cancelled when I met a girl named Heather who needed help.

When I came home from that weekend in Wisconsin I was emotional and needed someone to talk to. My church group friends and my school friends were off the table on this one. I tried to call Dawn and her mom told me she was at work. I tried calling a few more times over the next week or so and she was always at work.

A few weeks later there was a speech meet. I saw her and she looked sad. All she said is that something was wrong with her friend and she didn’t know what to do. I tried to ask her about it and she said she didn’t want to talk about it.

So I put my foot in my mouth and asked if we could talk about prom. What I meant was I wanted to talk about this girl named Heather that I met and see if she still wanted to go with me with this confusing reality I was in. But at that age (or any age) I was not a master of communication. She looked angrily at me as tears welled up in her eyes. “My friend is in trouble and you want to know about prom?” That did not go well.

A few days later some friends of mine wanted to go to a restaurant in Naperville called The Colonial and then go to the Riverwalk. I was not feeling up to it, but I went. We got to the restaurant and Dawn was our waitress. It was very awkward. The table next to us had some people from the youth group I went to and some of them said hi to me. At their table was a guy who bullied the girl I knew named Heather and some of Dawn’s bullies. My world got really small and it would get smaller.

Dawn saw this and went to my table, looked at me and said, “You know them? Those are your friends? What the hell?!?! How did I not see this? You’re good. You’re the best fuckin liar I ever met. The other women I admire know there’s no Blaine or Jake. There’s just assholes who lie. Was this a joke?”

One of my friends asked for the check which Dawn gave to him and walked away. My friends decided not to tip and I protested. “Dude!” One of them said. “That was not cool what she just did. Screw her and her tip!” The guy from the other table heard this and made sure his table wasn’t tipping either and he called Dawn a bitch.

I threw my soda at him and it hit his head. He and one of his friends stood up and I ran for the door, my car, and drove home.

I told my grandmother a variation of the story. My friends were jerks to the waitress and did not tip her and the other table full of teens did not tip either and I wanted money to go back there and do the right thing. My grandmother said only if I got new friends. I said, “I’m done with them.”

She gave me $50. In 1988. She gave me $50. I drove back to the restaurant.

I went inside and Dawn saw me, glared at me, and stormed to the back.

Another waitress walked up to me and said I should go. She was a short older woman who looked like she was ready to kill me with a spork. I handed her the $50 bill and said, “Could you give this to Dawn? It’s her tip for the two tables.”

“You think mommy and daddy’s money will make this okay?” the older woman demanded more than asked.

“My grandmother gave it to me. I told her what all those jerks did and she gave me this to give to Dawn. So just give it to her because it’s the right thing and tell her I wont bother her anymore and I’m not friends with any of those people anymore.”

Tears stung my eyes. I could care less about prom or that youth group. The idea that she would think I was like the rest of them was hard to bear.

I was about to get into my Monte Carlo when I heard a voice behind me.

“Hey.” It was Dawn. She had been crying. I stared at my car door. I did not want her to see my face near tears. She pressed on.

“Pat. Please look at me.”

I turned to look at her my lower lip trembling.

She ran her fingers through her hair.

“It’s hard to be poor in this town. And I don’t fit in anywhere and it’s so hard to be woman and the shit my dad did to my mom. I’m terrified I’m gonna meet a guy like that and have a daughter that will feel like me all the time.”

She paused as tears started to flow down her face.

“And my best friend is missing or something and no one notices or cares and her mom doesn’t give a shit and she’s different and I don’t care about that because it doesn’t matter and she’s my friend and that asshole you beaned and his popular friends have made her life hell over lies one of those church girls said and now she’s gone and I don’t know what to do and you’re cute and nice and I should be all over this like the movies and I’m just not ready to date and I’m 17 and that is fucked up and look….God! I have three friends. My mom, you, and Heather and I don’t even know if she’s alive.”

“Whoah!” I said as my brain exploded. “Heather Redacted? Is that your best friend?”

She was nearly hyperventilating when I said Heather’s name and she just nodded.

“Dawn. She’s okay. She’s safe. Can we go somewhere and talk? I’ve been wanting to tell you about her for weeks now and I didn’t know you knew her. Oh my god we need to talk!”

Dawn hugged me as she kept saying thank you.

Dedicated to Erika

Every Feminist Friday is Dedicated to my friend Erika!

Erika died on Christmas leaving behind a family that has immediate needs.

Click here to read the story of how Erika saved my life when we were teenagers.

Click here to donate to the Gofundme a friend and local PRIDE organizer set up to help the family Erika was taken away from

If you liked this article, you may like the story about Cyndi Lauper and the importance of feminism and queer acceptance.

The magazine is more than retro fun, it is a high quality beautiful experience with articles that matter.

In depth cover story, movie reviews, album reviews, product/company reviews, thoughts from the community, and even yearbook splash pages!

It is art, nostalgia, and now all in one keepsake magazine you will keep for years to come!

Click here to go to the store and order yours today!

There are three ways you can do this:

1. Share this story with a friend and leave a comment.

2. Tip me! I do not have a contract with anyone in this work and for it to continue I need support.

3. Become a Members Only Patreon! In the Patreon I will have unfiltered rants, exclusive content, free PDF copies of the upcoming quarterly magazine, and more.

Thank you for your support and taking the time to read this.

Stay Totally Awesome! Stay true to you.