John Hughes died last Thursday. He was only 59.

I told a friend about this, solemn and upset. 

He responded with a blank, innocent look on his face and said: "Who's John Hughes?"

I think I cried a little on the inside. 

How can someone not know the director and/or writer of such classics as "Sixteen Candles," "Breakfast Club," "Home Alone," and "Ferris Bueller's Day Off"? How could the man who introduced us to the likeable popular kids, the loveable geeks, the Griswalds, Matthew Broderick, and of course, the red-head I've always wanted to be, Molly Ringwald, be forgotten in any way?

People may have idolized Michael Jackson. John Hughes was my idol.

Then I realized something. Many may not know him by name. But they know his movies; the films that marked our lives with the right amount of sensibility and sentimentality. 

Most people worshipped John Hughes for his ability to capture teen angst and adolescence in realistic and relevant ways. I, too, adored him for those same reasons. But more than the textbook reasons as to why Hughes was a fantastic director/writer, he represented a constant in a world of unreliability and a breath of fresh air in a business of money-hungry studios. I could always count on his films to make a statement about life without mocking our oh-so-hard teenage lives in Middle America. It wasn't about the huge explosions or the twisted, shocking storylines, or the crass sexual humor that's so present in recent cinema. It wasn't even about how much money he could make at the box office; he was known for his disagreements with the studio heads. No, it was none of that. Hughes represented us. He made us recognize that we weren't alone in the huge fishbowl of life. 

I remember watching his movies when I was happy, sad, mad, surprised, stressed -- every feeling in the book. His films are the ones you watch every single time they're on TV, regardless of how many times you've seen it. You know the dialogue by heart; the songs by memory. "Don't You (Forget about Me)" and "If You Leave" are movie song classics -- the lyrical genius you can't help but relate to the scenes it played behind. And each time, without fail, the films make us smile. John Hughes created the epitome of what entertainment should be; a release, an adventure, a time to relax and forget about the little worries that build up into tiny crises. He created memories in our lives attached to his films. You almost felt like he was creating the film specifically for you; to help you with whatever high school or family drama you were going through that week.

I'll always remember watching "National Lampoon's Vacation" and "Christmas Vacation" every year during the holidays, a tradition my family and I accustomed to since the early '90s. Only the Griswalds can out-dysfunction my own dysfunctional family. "Sixteen Candles" was on replay every time I felt my relatives weren't paying enough attention to me or when I felt like my dreamiest most dreamy crush was way out of reach, ala Jake Ryan. I put in my dusty VHS tape of "Pretty in Pink" when I'd finally realized that the adorkable guy was way more my style than the out-of-reach, cool, preppy dude. Yeah, I guess I never got on message with that film. Andie should have ended up with Duckie. I mean, what kind of name is Blaine? 

"Ferris Bueller's Day Off" was the movie I watched during all my real sick days and all my fake ones. Ferris made it okay to admit what we've all done: Played sick. The fake cough, the light bulb fever, and the sweaty, watery hands. Yeah, it's okay to stay home, call friends, and spend the day cruising around town while all the other suckers are learning American History and trig. We did it without a Save Ferris campaign, but with Ferris' aura of addictive confidence. 

I turned to "The Breakfast Club" when I felt people were looking to define exactly who I was and when I recognized that maybe we're not all so different after all. It also made me want to land in detention. Only Hughes could tease you that getting in trouble and spending the afternoon with five classmates and a smartass principal was better than a day at the mall.

"Planes, Trains & Automobiles" gave me Steve Martin and John Candy as the ultimate comedy duo. And "Home Alone" triggered my love affair with Macaulay Culkin and the excitement of feeling old enough to guide myself without my parents, while at the same time realizing that I needed them, anyway.

I can't imagine growing up without these films at my disposal to guide me from one day to the next. Hughes' films will last through generations -- timely in their conception, relatable in their execution. 

I just hope one day we'll not only remember the films, but the man behind the teen angst.

After everything he's given us, he deserves that much.