Disco was big when I was a pre-teen. Every Sunday the kids in the neighborhood would go down to the officers mess and spend the afternoon dancing in the dark beneath a spinning disco ball. Outside of these dances my next favorite activity was to rush home after school, go down to the basement and play my red disco record. I am not sure how I came about it, most likely it was a birthday or Christmas gift.
I listened to that record as much as I could. The music transported me and I loved to dance. I made up dance sequences and used some moves from the hit series Solid Gold. I had friends over and taught them my moves.
For a whole summer disco dancing was my life. I grooved to the Village People, Abba, Donna Summer, Gloria Gaynor and The Bee Gees.
One day while dancing I bumped into the record player. A long deep groove marred the surface of my special red record. I could no longer listen to YMCA or Dancing Queen. The record simply bounced and repeated a crackly noise over and over. I was heartbroken.
I had invested plenty of time listening to that record. It had become an important part of my day to day life. That red disco record defined me.
It was hard to let it go. (Sort of like the old stories we play over and over)
But there was no point continuing to play something that sounded horrible and offered me no pleasure. Moving beyond my eleven year old grief became much easier when I replaced the red disco record with a new assortment of little 45’s.
Life went on. I danced again and eventually I left disco behind:)