Epic Moves

               “The Yule Ball has been a tradition of the Tri-Wizard tournament since its inception.  On Christmas Eve night we and our guests gather in the great hall for well mannered frivolity. As representatives of the host school I expect each and every one of you to put your best foot  forward, and I mean this literally because the Yule Ball is first and foremost... a dance.” -Professor McGonagall

    You haven’t lived until you have chaperoned a junior high dance.  Period.  Well mannered frivolity, no matter how well intentioned, still needs oversight when teenagers are involved and so I accepted the position along with two of my colleagues Lisa and Katie.

    “Wow, you’re stepping outside your comfort box,” said Bryan, another teacher at the school.  I knew it to be true.  I figured that with my son in the 7th grade I should step up to the plate.  It was time.

    As we entered the school the electric pulse of synthesized drums pounded through the dividers that were trying their best to contain the energy of the teens' enthusiasm.  

You know it’s all about that bass

about that bass no treble...

all about that bass about that bass no treble.

it's all about that bass about that bass no treble
It's all about that bass, bass, bass, bass.

    I arrived with my son Corey and three of his buddies who had been pre-funking at the house with juice and bananas.  I helped them with their ties.  We arrived fashionably late by five minutes.  The boys had to wait for a few minutes to pay because the 8th grade girl taking money was busy counting the proceeds and couldn't be bothered to take anymore cash until she had properly accounted for what she had so far.  As a teacher at the school I walked right in to commence my chaperoning duties.   Together with Lisa and Katie we would prove to be a solid team of supervising adults, but where were they?  It was super dark.  I found them holding their ground against the stage. 

 “Where should I put the food?” I shouted.  Katie pointed to the round table in the corner.  I had brought some snacks to add to the assortment of others on the table.  I got there in time to see one of the boys put a handful of mixed pretzels back into the container. “Eu yuck!” he said with a face of disgust.  The thought crossed my mind that I could have used that as a teachable moment on manners. Maybe I should explain that once you grab a handful of food in your grubby little paws,  you probably shouldn't put it back in the mix. He quickly disappeared into the darkness before I had time to formulate my words, besides, it was so loud he probably wouldn’t have heard me.  Mellow out Harrison.

     Out on the dance floor was an irregularly moving blob of human activity that could loosely be classified as dancing.  On one side was a small herd of boys jumping straight up and down as high as they could with their arms pinned to their sides.  A group of four girls were hoola-hooping in the dark oblivious to the fact that the reason why they couldn’t keep it going was that the hoop was hitting stuff; the stage, other girls etc.  One girl was twirling the thing around her neck.

     Periodically groups of girls and boys (not mixed) would join hands ring-around-the-rosy style and start circling.  A couple of energetic girls decided to take it to the next level grasping hands, whirling around as fast as they could.  They would lean back with a full arch until the inevitable epic fail.  Natural consequence?  I think so.

   Just then one of the boys busted out a decent rendition of the worm, making his way through the middle of the crowd a distance of thirty some feet.  Nice.  I couldn’t help thinking that it must have hurt his bones worming like that on the concrete floor;  He only did it once.  Another boy hoping to follow his lead decided to crabwalk instead.  Quickly realizing that the crab-walk didn’t have the same effect on the crowd as the worm he stood back up and re-joined one of the ring-around-the-rosy circles.

I’m so fancy,

you already know

I’m in the fast lane,

from L.A. to Tokyo.....

       By and large the girls danced non-stop.  Sometimes with the boys but mostly in big groups of other girls where the group selfies could be maximized.  The main selfy face for the night was the always-glamorous pursed pouty lip face.  The flash of the phone’s camera had a strobe effect and I could see all the faces packed tightly together, lips pursed.

   I only had to curb behavior three times.  Someone brought a few of those green glow sticks and these ones came with a two foot lanyard which turned out to be perfect for swinging around. One young lad quickly progressed from a mellow twirl to full-on nunchucking right in the middle of the crowd.  The kids on the dance floor were moving further and further away from him as the neon martial arts demo was reaching crescendo.  The trick was getting in there to stop it.  I felt like I was stuck in a bad Bruce Lee flick trying to disarm the kid.  I would only have to put the kibosh on his nunchucking efforts once more before the end.  Not bad.

     On another occasion, the crab walker decided that it would be a good idea to start running really fast circles around the perimeter of the dancing masses like an Australian shepherd herding sheep.  Unfortunately his agility was much more like that of a St.Bernard.  After knocking over his third victim I decided to step in.

    I wasn’t the only chaperon earning keep on this night.  Lisa and Katie both were on-the-spot putting out small fires here and there as well.  Lisa was like a shot out of a cannon to the dance floor when an exuberant high school girl decided to poach the junior high dance running into the crowd with some sweet moves of her own hoping to show some kids how it’s done.

   All said and done,the dance proved to be an overwhelming success.  “It was really fun.” said Corey in the truck as we left the parking lot.  They all agreed as they compared notes on the way to the after party at our house. 
 Although I knew the answer I had to ask. “Did you guys dance with any girls?”  I got three yeses and a no. My son was the lone hold out. 
 “You guys just don’t know how to say no,” he told them.

Los cuatro amigos