Back in the 1980s, when I lived in Germany, I spent a few years conning my way into a club in Oberusel, two years underage (14, as opposed to 16 to get into the club). I still have zero idea how I pulled it off, given that I still can’t pass for my age on a good day.
At any rate, a German friend of mine – who I had a huge crush on – used to dance with me and once saved me from being in the middle of the very first bar fight I ever saw (as opposed to when I was in the thick of things, but that was years down the road). He kept an eye on me and made sure I didn’t do anything too stupid. He was three years older than I was, and was a saint for putting up with me for any number of reasons.
I don’t remember how Whitney Houston’s “I Wanna Dance with Somebody” ended up being what I associate with CMR – I do know it was popular during this time, and we must have danced to it somewhere along the way.
I won’t make this post all maudlin – there will be a time and a place for me to write more in depth about CMR and the “too short while” and the only regrets I have in life and sadness, but it won’t be today. Today I’m content to tap my foot and sing along, love on him the only way I can, and wish he was here to dance with me.