Chaperoning wonderland

Last week, I chaperoned my first middle school dance. You might be wondering how I could have taught this age group for nine years and only just found myself standing, arms folded, in a dimly-lit cafeteria full of blaring music and runaway hormones. Well, two of those years I was in Cameroon, which has a cute youth day once a year (sort of a talent show on steroids), but no dances. Then I taught at a school with a lot on its mind, but busting a move did not rank high. We did have a dance at one point, but I somehow escaped monitoring duties. I recall being incredibly relieved. Even last year here in Abu Dhabi, I managed to elude the call when the dance I was scheduled to watch was canceled. Not this year. This year, I was stationed on the sidelines for Winter Wonderland 2009.

It was in the cafeteria, which is a windowless cavern-like room underneath the gym. The student council had hung strings of lights and gotten their hands on some stand-alone strobes that flashed different colors at irregular intervals. The kids were instructed to wear all white, snowflakes being a universal cause for celebration (as opposed to any one religion's winter colors). It made them easy to see. My fellow chaperones and I took our places along the edges of the dance floor. The principal and student council adviser guarded the door. A gaggle of parents sold food coupons while others distributed KFC Twisters, ice cream sandwiches and tiny cans of Sprite

Middle school dances haven't changed much since you were 13, in case you're wondering. There was lots of giggling, running around, the casting of meaningful looks (that may or may not have been noticed) and more giggling. In addition to separating by gender, the kids divided by grade level. Imagine the rectangular, low-ceiled cafeteria divided into thirds (8th on the left, 6th in the middle, 7th on the right). Each third was, of course, split into a boy huddle and a girl huddle. The 8th graders mixed the most; the 6th graders the least. In fact, the 6th grade boys soon took refuge behind the speakers while the 6th grade girls joined hands and spun around together, ring-around-the-rosy style, to most songs. The 7th graders at one point looked like they were playing an unintentional game of Red Rover. They stood in two lines facing each other (one made up of girls, one of boys). Though they kept strictly to their third of the cafeteria, occasionally one girl or one boy would "come on over" to the opposite 7th grade line, have what looked like a drive-by conversation, and scoot on back.

We chaperones spent a lot of time talking about how glad we were to be decades distant from our middle school years, especially during the one slow song where a total of two 8th grade couples danced (along with the twirling 6th grade girls). What we didn't do was spend a lot of time worrying about sex and drugs amid the rock n roll (or Euro-style techno and R&B). Senorita C, one of the chaperones, talked about patrolling the darkest corners at her former school, breaking up make-out sessions and discouraging bootie shaking on the dance floor. The closest we came to that was when the PE teacher (a hilarious Brit) started making faces over the shoulders of the two slow-dancing duos, surely scarring them for life.

At 9 p.m. sharp, we turned on the lights, cleared the floor (mostly of the 6th grade Energizer bunnies, who could have gone for another three hours) and sent the kids into the cars of their waiting parents.

My middle school dances took place in the Boys and Girls Club of the small beach town where I grew up. This was fortunate because it meant I could attend, even though I didn't go to the local junior high, which hosted the events. The dances weren't held in the gym (which was large and roomy). Rather, they cleared the floor of the "club" area, normally home to pool, air hockey and Foozball tables. It was packed with kids (boys on one side, girls on other other). The year was 1987. I remember wearing my first miniskirt, white pantyhoes and an Espirt top, and hanging close to the girls from my street. I slow-danced with BrianB to "Crazy for You" by Madonna, and all I could think about were all the people who were looking at me. The horror. I wish I had enjoyed it more. And I'm relieved (to this day) that the PE teacher wasn't making faces over my shoulder.

Aren't you glad you're not in middle school anymore?