Growing up in the ’80s, I was anything but a conventional girl. I was a tomboy, a term I never fully embraced because it seemed to imply I was trying to be something I wasn’t. Why wasn’t there a term like “tomgirl” to describe girls like me who simply preferred climbing trees and playing sports over dolls?
During recess in Eugene, Oregon, around 1981, I thrived in games like dodgeball, which we cheekily called “slaughterball.” I darted around the playground, either chasing or evading the ball, and when our competitive spirit ignited, we would shout, “Facial disgracial!” While I sometimes joined the girls on the bars for stunts, I gravitated towards the boys, finding a connection I couldn’t quite articulate.
At home, it was a similar story. Our street was dominated by boys, and we often congregated in the shared space between two houses. We would unleash our imaginations with Star Wars action figures, setting up elaborate scenes along the stone wall and under the rhododendron bushes. The other girl in the neighborhood usually claimed Princess Leia, while I opted for the quirky extras from Buck Rogers, like Twiki.
We were the quintessential free-range kids, playing until dusk before stumbling home, covered in dirt and starving. My mom would usually be in the kitchen, preparing some rather unappealing dishes involving zucchini and cottage cheese. Life was simple then, and I distinctly remember those moments before my parents’ divorce changed everything.
“Did you have fun?” my mom would inquire, and I would eagerly recount our adventures before asking, “Can I watch TV?” She rarely declined, as I was often outside.
Thursday nights were sacred; they were reserved for Magnum, P.I. I never missed the opening credits, eagerly watching as T.C.’s helicopter swooped across the screen while my body swayed to its catchy theme music. I sprawled on the brown and gold shag carpet, propping my chin on my hands, waiting for the electric feeling that washed over me when Tom Selleck’s Magnum swiftly appeared on screen.
When he turned to face the camera, eyebrows raised, my heart did somersaults. The scenes of him with the bikini-clad woman would leave my cheeks burning, and while I dismissed my father’s teasing, saying, “Nu-uh! Of course not!” I secretly relished those moments. It was Magnum, not Tom, who had captured my interest.
Reflecting on it now, I realize the appeal lay in his safety. There was no danger in admiring him; he embodied a blend of charm and goofiness that made him relatable. Despite feeling out of place in my boyish attire, Magnum’s presence allowed me to embrace my identity without fear of judgment. I could indulge in daydreams of adventures with him in his Ferrari or sea kayak, and those fantasies felt perfectly innocent.
Magnum, P.I. was my first true crush, piercing my tomboy heart with a mix of admiration and affection. He was the ideal figure in my childhood—a safe harbor in a world that often felt confusing.
As we navigate our own journeys, whether through parenting or personal discovery, it’s essential to find what resonates with us. For those considering starting a family, exploring options like an at-home insemination kit can be a wonderful step. If you’re interested in learning more about artificial insemination, check out this excellent resource for pregnancy and home insemination from MedlinePlus. Also, for couples on a fertility journey, this guide can provide valuable insights.
In summary, my affinity for Magnum, P.I. was more than just a childhood crush; it was a reflection of my journey as a tomboy navigating the complexities of identity and connection.
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