You guys remember the Power Rangers? You remember how completely stupid they were? And remember how you were, like, totally obsessed with them when you were nine?

Oh, you don’t?

I sure do.

In fact, I was so into it that, in the fourth grade, I had outfits to represent ALL FIVE of them. Not their actual fighting uniforms. That would just be stupid. I chose clothes that matched the way their alter egos dressed. And I wore them, Monday through Friday, every week. And yes, if you were wondering, there was an order.

Monday, I wore black, to be Zack the Black Ranger. Jeans, a belt, and a black t-shirt. I though I looked tough. Really, I just looked like a jerk.

Tuesday, I was Trini the Yellow Ranger. I wore a yellow, swingy top. Fact: My natural skin tone is something I’ve always liked. However, it does NOT mesh well with yellows and oranges. I look like I have a terminal illness when I wear yellow. Tuesday’s weren’t pretty.

Wednesday, I was the Red Ranger, Jason. Again, jeans, a belt, and a red sleeveless top. You know, to show off those killer biceps I had going on. Hell, I did karate- I had muscles… somewhere.

Thursday, I was Billy the Blue Ranger. Billy was the nerdy one. I chose to mimic him by wearing a blue sleeveless (there was a lot of that) shirt, overalls (which my classmates had always assured me were very dorky), and GLASSES. My eyesight was fine, but I needed to complete the look. I had some sunglasses whose lenses had fallen out, so I wore those around. Once, my friend Sally’s older brother passed me in the hallway and noted, “FOUR EYES!” I defiantly brought my right index finger up along my cheek, behind the frames and poked it out towards him, illustrating that the glasses were FAKE, thereby proving that was not a loser.  Slam dunk.

Friday, I was usually Kimberly the Pink Ranger. This consisted of a pink leotard I got as a hand-me-down and a pair of jeans. Sometimes one of those horrible floppy hats with a flower in it that the kids on Blossom used to wear. However, SOMETIMES, when I wasn’t feeling particularly feminine, I wore yet another sleeveless t-shirt. This time it was green, so that I could be Tommy the Green Ranger. The shirt had originally come with a little tiny bow on the front of it, but I tore it off, to my mother’s disappointment. I remember her saying to me once, “Oh, I thought that’s why we got you this shirt.” Um, no. It was so I could look like this guy:

So, to sum up, in the fourth grade, I was a loon who chose to dress up like a bunch of kids who fought robots and lizards and a woman named Rita who lived on a space station or something (I don’t remember all the Rangers lore). How I made it through that year with my pride and limbs is a testament to just how much children don’t care about each other. To them, I was just some weenie who wore fake glasses on Thursdays and helped them with their vocabulary homework. But to me, I was completely radical.

I would like to publicly say: They were right. I was wrong.

Bookmark this!