I do remember lining up in the school cafeteria with a horde of other seventh-grade boys, avoiding eye contact with a similar arrangement of female classmates across the way. With all the tables folded and stacked up along the far walls, the floor seemed like a vast, if not impossible chasm to cross.
I don't remember which couple finally broke the stalemate, but it was to "Crystal Blue Persuasion" by Tommy James and the Shondells, a slow-dance number that put us onlookers into another extended period of suspended animation.
Back in the day, the junior-high dance epitomized what made young adolescence so awkward. Our hormones were raging and we were screaming for attention, but we were also painfully self-conscious. Those dances made most of us feel like amoebas under a microscope. And the more times change, the more they stay the same.
A few weeks ago, my wife, Betty, and I chaperoned a dance at Hampstead Middle School, our first gig like that in about 15 years. What we witnessed wasn't exactly "American Bandstand."
We arrived a little early and watched as student volunteers taped white sheets to the walls. Only later, when it went dark inside, did we realize what these sheets were for. Students used fluorescent pens to write names and messages that shimmied and shook when pulsating strobe lights attacked them. Hey, I used to think lava lamps were cool.
As soon as the music started, the lights dimmed and the kids moved toward one end of the cafeteria, where a large screen was positioned on the stage. An image reminiscent of something '60s icon Peter Max might have painted undulated to the beat of the music. A small group of eighth-grade boys faced their peers and started dancing by themselves. I'm told the rubbery moves on display could be categorized as hip-hop, though I did see some retro moonwalking and the ever-popular "worm," a maneuver that requires, as far as I can tell, the removal of one's spine.
Dave Remillard, an industrial arts teacher and the organizer of this dance, had constructed a wooden platform and placed it near the big screen. Kids hopped on it in packs, so much so that I worried about their safety. But Dave, at least 20 years younger than I, basically told this old man to chill. "Nah, it's built to hold at least 15 kids at a time. Not to worry." Dave, at different times, served as doorman, disc jockey, bathroom monitor and traffic controller. Thanks to Dave, the night progressed without a hitch.
Across the hall in an adjacent room, a "Guitar Hero III" competition raged, the highlight of my night. It was great to hear, finally, some music I was familiar with, like Cream's "Sunshine of Your Love," and Foghat's "Slow Ride." But it was even better to watch many of my students as masters of this video game, competing at its most challenging level. Many begged me to give it a try, and I had to confess that I had tried with my own kids, and failed miserably.
The only times couples danced occurred during slow songs, and all the kids I watched had internalized the rules. Boys and girls had to stay an arm's length apart, with hands firmly placed on each other's shoulders. The pairs looked robotic as they gently swayed back and forth, but the alternative wasn't an option the chaperones wanted to deal with. The kids who didn't dance were content to roam back and forth or talk in clusters, not at all concerned that their teachers were taking everything in.
All in all, it was an interesting way to spend a Friday evening. I hadn't stayed up that late in years. It was fun to play cultural anthropologist, and I only had to use my earplugs once or twice.
John Edmondson is a teacher in Hampstead. His column appears Wednesdays in the Derry News.
