Wednesday, April 24, 2013

I love Winnie Cooper

Actually, I don't love Winnie Cooper, but I thought the writing of this post on the New Yorker was so good that I had to share. The bitter sugar of nostalgia mixed with a longing. What Winnie represented is possibility in the promise of the future. We all grew up with our own Winnie Coopers.

From the post:

Winnie Cooper, the object of Kevin Arnold’s affection, was the paragon of innocent boyish yearning. Her brown hair was long and straight, and always managed, when she shook it out, to improbably catch the best light. And her bright smile, made charming by her buckish front teeth, finely complimented her olive complexion. But the looks were really just the manifestation of her disposition, which was sweet and polite, with a hint of fragility behind her big doe eyes. It didn’t suggest she could go to pieces at any moment, like a damsel in distress, but rather that she had absorbed some blows—her parents were at odds—and was, as a result, a tad older and smarter than her actual years. Yet the smartness, thankfully, wasn’t expressed in absurdly pithy quips, which always draw attention to the artifice of adolescent dialogue. Instead, she had what my grandfather would have called “dignity,” as if she were waiting patiently for all those silly boys to grow up. Winnie Cooper was too good for Kevin Arnold, but she gave him attention anyway, and provided hope for the rest of us in the process.