My name is Claire. I was born in 1965, in a time when letters were still written by hand, when the word “connection” had nothing to do with the internet, and Sundays smelled like yogurt cake and mothballs.
I’m part of that somewhat invisible generation people now call “X.” But to me, we’re more like the hinge generation.
The ones who knew a world without screens… and had to learn to reinvent everything with them.
A Childhood of Freedom
I remember those late afternoons when we’d play outside until the streetlights came on. We’d yell our friends’ names from the window, ride bikes without helmets through alleyways, and no one was searching for us on WhatsApp—we just knew where to meet.
Our knees bore the scars of adventure, our hands the dust of abandoned lots.
At home, phones had dials—you had to spin the numbers and wait for the little wheel to come back around. We went shopping with a string bag,
and five francs was enough for a pack of Tagada strawberries.
Forgotten Things, Sounds, and Gestures
We knew the magic crackle of vinyl records, rewound cassette tapes with a pen,
and spent hours hoping the radio would play our favorite song so we could record it.
And then came the first video games: cartridge consoles you had to blow into to get them working.
Pac-Man, Space Invaders… it was a revolution in our living rooms.
Life Before Safety Gear
I went on vacation in the back of a car without a seatbelt, my two brothers sitting on pillows. No sunscreen, no bike helmets,
yet we always came home tanned, tired, and happy.
We shared soda straight from the bottle, ate candy we picked up off the ground after a quick “eww,”
and if someone got lice, a spoonful of vinegar did the trick.
Learning Through Experience
At school, our backpacks were heavy and we carried them on our backs—no wheels, no complaints. We learned to write in cursive, read road maps,
and knew grandma’s phone number by heart.
We took long road trips without tablets or cartoons. Just games, songs we made up in harmony,
and that timeless question: “Are we there yet?”
An Unfiltered Youth
Our parents bought a house on a single income. I still live there today. I look at those walls and wonder:
“How did they do it?”
We watched Saturday morning cartoons, listened to bedtime radio dramas,
and in the evening, the grown-ups talked in the kitchen while we whispered under the covers.
We danced to the Beatles, sang Johnny Hallyday, cried to Michel Berger’s melodies,
and discovered rock through Led Zeppelin and Téléphone.
Real-Life Connections
Our friendships were made in the street, not from liking a photo. We weren’t profiles—we were nicknames: “Tall Claire,” “Dreamer Jérôme,” “Funny Ludo.”
Everyone had their place—no need to sell yourself.
We learned by falling, trying again, starting over. No tutorials, no how-to videos.
Just life, and people.
Today, We’re Still Here
We watched the internet arrive, learned how to send emails, use smartphones, open online bank accounts.
We had to evolve, adapt, and figure out how to live in a world changing every day.
But deep down, we’ve stayed the same.
Curious. Resilient. A little nostalgic sometimes—but still here.
They call us Generation X.
But we are more than just a letter.
We are bridges.
We are the ones who didn’t grow up with screens,
but learned how to leave our mark on them.
And even if not much is said about us,
I believe we are the memory of a world that still knew how to take its time and truly live.