Tonight was my first time at a classic school dance. You know, the ones held in school gyms, student made decorations, low key, school pride and all. Expectations weren’t too high but really…. my eyes cannot undo what it has just witnessed. I felt as if I were in a strange parallel, gangster, afro-hispanic, technological version of Grease as I looked across the dark gymnasium at the modern day Rizzo’s grinding up on their savage Leo’s.
I became Principal McGee, but instead of the taps on the shoulder I whip out my Blackberry. I proceed to find my flashlight app (downloaded originally for Hurricane Irene) and shined my light upon the shameless bodies pelvic thrusting at each other. “Separate, Separate!”, “If you need to use the wall for help, you’re not dancing”, “dance on the dance floor”. Just a few of the various lines I used today.
Despite all of this I will cling to the memory of seeing an 11th grade boy ask a freshman girl if she would like to dance-with gentile heart and chivalry. Then to see the girl recoil with squeals of embarrassment and happiness back into her crowd of friends. To the effort that all the seniors put into decorating their section of the gym and winning the competition tonight.
Homecoming was definitely traumatizing but not a lost cause… I guess.