(I've Had) The Time of My Life

This past Friday night, I had the honor of serving as a chaperone for the SPMS Eighth Grade Winter Formal. As I stood there, watching the thirteen and fourteen year old boys and girls cluster together with their friends, seeing couples dancing on the dance floor, and having to separate the occasional overly affectionate pair with a firehose, I was suddenly taken back to my own middle school experience.

In June of 1989, in Bowers Auditorium at Potter Junior High School, in Fallbrook, California, I experienced a rite of passage in my transition from being a shy, unassuming kid who felt entirely awkward around members of the opposite gender to becoming a shy, unassuming adult who was only slightly less so.

It was at this point that I shared my first dance with a girl who was neither my cousin nor my grandmother. The event was held a few hours after the promotion ceremony, at which my parents had beamed proudly that I had managed to survive two years firmly entrenched somewhere in the middle of the junior high social hierarchy. I was not well-liked enough to be considered popular but, thankfully, I was not low enough on the ladder to have my lunch money stolen or to have my head flushed in a recently used toilet.

My middle-rung position afforded me the luxury of flying under the radar most of the time, save for the occasional taunting because of the bird's nest that represented the early stages of my efforts to grow my hair out in a sad attempt to be like my older brother. Like most things in my life at the time, it didn't go exactly as planned. What I had envisioned would one day be a flowing mane of golden tresses ended up looking more like a collection of steel wool pads that had attached themselves to my head.

Junior high was an odd time for me, as it is for nearly everybody. I was never the type to attend school dances, and I'm still not sure why I decided to attend this one, other than it seemed like what I was supposed to do. So, I spent the evening sort of hovering near the wall, talking with my friends, most of whom were as awkward as I was.

Then, as the final notes of some song along the lines of Salt-N-Pepa's "Push It" faded out, the DJ announced that it was now the final slow dance of the night. I looked around to see that my friends had all abandoned me, pairing of with one girl or another to begin the traditional middle school "Swaying Back and Forth, Trying Not to Step on Her Feet" dance.

Suddenly, I felt as if everybody was looking at me. As if, the next day, everybody would be talking about how "that kid with the weird hair" had been standing by himself during the last dance of the night. The problem was, I didn't know how to dance. I didn't have the slightest clue.

It was then that I saw this girl I recognized from my social studies class, Dina. I honestly couldn't even tell you what her last name was, or what song was playing. Given the year, I'd imagine it was either that song from Dirty Dancing or that one from The Karate Kid, Part II by Peter Cetera. You know...the one about how he'd fight for her honor and how he was the hero that she'd been dreaming of...all of which I consider to be a perfect description of Ralph Macchio.

Forgetting for a moment that I was scared to death of girls, I walked over to her and asked her if she wanted to dance. I expected, at the most, a polite refusal... something about how she didn't want to ruin her social standing this close to high school. I was both relieved and surprised when she said yes. Of course, at this point, I began to stammer on endlessly about how I'd never danced with a girl before and didn't have the slightest clue as to how to do it. She shrugged, told me to just relax, and my first dance began. We didn't say much and, honestly, I am not sure I ever spoke to her again after that. But, when the music ended and the lights came up, she smiled, said, "Thanks, Matt" and walked away. I just sort of stood there, somewhat amazed by the fact that she even knew my name.

Last Friday, I watched many of these same events unfold. I saw groups of boys hovering around the patio, more concerned with discussing anime than they were with dancing. I saw young couples on the dance floor, as I manuevered my way through the crowd, making sure that no "inappropriate" dancing was taking place. I saw the occasional child sitting by his or herself, admiring some boy or girl across the room, hoping that nobody would notice them.

I wanted to tell them that, in twenty years, none of the minidramas they were experiencing would matter. That, more than likely, that popular kid whom everybody admired, would be the night manager at Arby's.

I then remembered my moment, on a similar night, nearly seventeen years ago. If some cynical adult had told me then that none of this mattered, I would have pointed out to him how wrong he was.

"No." I would say. "I just danced with a girl for the first time. I asked her to dance, and she said yes. Just let me enjoy the moment."

With that thought, I smiled. I'd enjoyed my moment, back in June of 1989. The least I could do was let them enjoy theirs.