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| Photo: Aline Gomes |
I’m glad smart phones weren’t around in the 1980s. Surely somebody would have snapped a photo – or worse, shot a video – of me moving my feet while swaying back and forth to the music of a live group on a lighted, checkerboard style dance floor in a night club called Fat Jak’s. During one stretch in the late 80s, one band played at Fat Jak’s 15 straight nights and me, my long hair, and my fake black leather coat found our way to the dance floor 14 of those nights.
After I wrote that paragraph, I was paranoid enough to check Facebook and YouTube, and guess what? Somebody started a Fat Jak’s page on Facebook even though the place hasn’t been in existence for 20 years and there’s actually a video of the band I danced to playing at Fat Jak’s during that time period on YouTube. I watched in horror, wondering if I would see myself on the dance floor. Thankfully, I didn’t. And no, I'm not going to link to it here.
I went to my high school dances and to my girlfriend’s high school dances in the early 80s and that’s probably when I realized how much I enjoyed dancing, even though I was never really good at it. It had more to do with somebody else wanting to join me on the dance floor than anything. As somebody who was always shy and overweight, it felt good knowing I wasn’t a leper. Once I got on the dance floor with someone, I just tried to blend it. There would be no twirls, splits or crazy hand motions for me.
Since my Fat Jak’s days, I haven’t spent a lot of time on a dance floor, with the exception of a wedding or two, but that doesn’t mean I won’t hop on the dance floor again one of these days because dancing is one of life’s simple pleasures and I miss it. Besides, Solomon said for everything there is a season – a time to weep, and a time to laugh; a time to mourn, and a time to dance. Who am I to argue?
