Last night, for obvious reasons, I was reminded of the year 1983. I was eight years old, and like everyone else, loved Michael Jackson. I was also a rollerskating freak. Skate Country was having a Michael Jackson night, and I wanted to be there.
My friend Heather and her dad were going to pick me up and we could go together. But I could not go. At the time, I was living with my mom and my brother in a Woman's Shelter. Its location was a secret, and I could not tell my friend where I lived so she could pick me up.
I remember vividly the social worker sitting on the steps with me while I cried explaining why I couldn't tell my friend where I lived. Now that I am older I can see what's wrong with this. Why couldn't my mom take me? Why couldn't we meet them somewhere, like we did when we went to visit my dad? I'm guessing that the answer is that my mom had no money to send me anyway.
Okay, that was a little depressing. I need something else to lighten the mood. Don't worry, I'm not going to post a Michael Jackson video. That early love I had for him wasn't nearly enough to sustain me through the years. Instead, I am going to play something else that reminds me of my rollerskating days. I work with a woman named Vicki, and for a while, whenever I saw her I would start singing this song (because her name rhymes, see?) along with the clapping and everything. It was cute and all at first, but after a while I had to stop, and hold back the urge with everything I had in me so people won't see what a serious dork I am. Happy Friday.
No comments:
Post a Comment