That Boy, Mr Cool, attended his first junior high school dance last fall. He's blessed with his great grandfather's dancing gene. The one that visited every generation until mine. It happily skipped past to manifest itself in the younger generation. That's circa my Junior year in high school, see what I mean?
There was another school dance today. Same kind, where they shackle the doors, turn off the air conditioning, turn down the lights, play stuff that barely passes for music (that parents mostly hate). Except, Jake said the DJ played the Macarana.
Nobody really dances with anyone, the kids mostly bounce around the gym floor like animated pogo sticks. An hour and some forty minutes later, both doors fly back and grinning, sweat drenched, ruddy faces fill the common area where the moms wait to fetch them.
Clip is from the flick, Get Yourself A College Girl, and I wish there was a better vid. The tune was a staple at the now defunct Fourth of July Bashes here at the Casa.
Tip of the glass to Brian for the long lost photo