You Can’t Go Home Again

Not too long ago, the boys were invited to a roller skating party.  Since the rink opened in our town, I’ve occasionally busted out with the 25 year old competition skates, rolled around on the floor, and pretended that if I really, really wanted to, I could still hit ths at double salchow.

Our rink seems a tad smaller than the ones I skated at when I was a kid, but something tells me it’s all perspective – when you’re 7, everything bigger than your living room can look enormous.  For some reason though, on a Saturday afternoon in February, the Starlight Skatium, my own little retro slice of heaven, was an enormous cavern of disco heaven.  Walking down the ramp to the front door, I could hear the faint bump of the bass, under the high pitched squeals of 10 and 11 year olds trying to stay upright.

 
I had almost pulled myself out of my time travel episode, when the DJ hit the sweet spot of skating music.  Car Wash.  Don’t Stop Believin (yes, I know it was 1981, but you get the point). And the Bee Gees.  THEY PLAYED THE BEE GEES!  The only thing that could have possibly completed the bus ride to Retroville would have been some KC and the Sunshine Band, with a chaser of “Boogie Fever”.   If anyone I just mentioned is completely beyond you, go to bed, it’s past your bedtime.  The rest of you know exactly where I’m at right now.  Forget the Cha Cha Slide…the rest of you are waiting for Donna Summer’s Last Dance to tell you that it’s time to take off your skates, please tuck your laces into the boots, and return them to the skate counter.

Yep. That's me

Ah, but like everything good in the world, there’s a price.  And the price of admission to 1978?  The 7 year old had an appointment with the eye doctor because he’d been having headaches.  I tagged along for an annual exam.  Guess which one of us had perfect vision, and guess who had reading glasses by the end of the week?

Next time I get a chance to go home again, I think I’ll just settle for peeking in the windows.

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