Wow.
I have some bad news, folks. Paul Gleason, who played Principal Vernon in 'The Breakfast Club', died today. I just read about it in the news and I don't know quite how to feel about it.

On the one hand, it really shouldn't mean that much to me; while I love 'The Breakfast Club' and Gleason's role in the film, I haven't exactly followed his career or been particularly moved by anything else he's done. On the other hand, though, his passing kind of makes me think of my own mortality. I mean, if characters from the definitive Coming-Of-Age story of our time are dying, how much time do have left?

Granted, Gleason wasn't playing any of the teens we identified with from the film-- I would certainly take it harder if I heard that Anthony Michael Hall or Molly Ringwald had kicked it-- but it still makes me a bit melancholy.

I'm only 24, so the movie came well before my high school years, but I remember seeing it for the first time when I was in 6th grade on TV. I would daydream of getting Saturday detentions, breaking through social barriers, and falling in love. I would've certainly been Brian the Nerd if I were anyone at all-- the only teen of the five to walk out of detention alone-- but when I fantasized about it, I was always John Bender, rebel extraordinaire. I would practice my indifference to authority look in the mirror and then follow it up with an occasional sneer. I would dream about telling my fellow at-risk teens about receiving cartons of cigarettes for Christmas and getting my ear pierced. But that wasn't me. I barely knew how to get in any real trouble, and Christmas always brought sweaters and music from Christian songwriters.

In my freshman year of high school, I managed to be late for Spanish class almost every single day. Every third time this happened, I received a morning detention to be served on Friday. Every single time I walked in, I would cross my fingers and pray for my Molly Ringwald to be there. But usually it was just Mrs. Libby and me, conjugating verbs and reviewing my Household Items vocabulary.

I'm thinking it might be nice, as a little tribute to Paul Gleason, for us all to share some Breakfast Club/High school detention memories. Go ahead and respond with your own. Which troubled teen were you? Ever have a Saturday school romance? Ever tape someone's ass cheeks together? Pop Don't You (Forget About Me) into your iTunes, reminisce, and tell us a story.