By gosh, they’ve done it.
The latest crop of teenagers has invented “freak dancing” and, just as it’s meant to, it gets under adult skin to a fare-thee-well.
You may be asking, “What is ‘freak dancing’?”
Since this is a morning newspaper and many of you are taking your first sip of coffee, tea, Bloody Marys or whatnot, I’ll explain as gently as possible.
A long time ago, I served aboard a destroyer in the closing days of the Vietnam war. For weeks at a time, we’d provide fire support for the troops ashore. Eventually, we’d run short of fuel or ammunition or – more commonly – something would break and we’d head for port to regroup.
In port, there were certain establishments that catered to the entertainment needs of sailors. One form of entertainment was “lap dancing.” This form of “dancing,” however, would never be confused with the graceful movements of, say, Ginger Rogers and Fred Astaire.
For you teenagers out there, Fred and Ginger were a famous dance team from a long time (more than a month) ago. In fact, it was so long ago that the phrase “So I go” as in: “My dad told me I couldn’t stay out all night, so I go ‘Why not’ and he goes ‘Because I said so’ and I was like so mad,” had not been invented yet.
In most instances, a “lap dance” was followed by a trip to an adjacent hotel that, coincidentally, rented rooms by the hour.
Anyway, “freak dancing” is a close relative of “lap dancing.” It can best be described as a “dance” wherein the female faces away, bends over at the waist and the male…
I can’t do this. Let me try another way.
Timmy has fallen into a well for about the gazillionth time and Lassie is headed home to fetch Mom and Dad.
She’s running hard – coat flying in the breeze, muscles rippling, mouth slightly open – as she passes a very handsome German Shepherd.
Truth be told, Lassie has had her eyes on him for a while and was hoping to bump into him. His reaction upon seeing her indicates that the feelings are very much mutual.
Timmy is getting cold, but he knows Lassie won’t let him down.
Meanwhile, for Lassie and her suitor, things are proceeding nicely. Shortly thereafter, they are having what can best be described as a “tender moment.”
Timmy is now wishing he’d starred in some other series that didn’t involve wells.
“Freak dancing,” gentle reader, is the human equivalent of that canine “tender moment” with clothes on.
I don’t kid myself about this column having any effect on teenagers. It’s just that I’ve reached the point where I’m wondering when clothing will become optional at school dances.
Given the fact that teenagers have always been a bundle of libidinous hormones under the tenuous control of an easily overwhelmed brain, it doesn’t help when they imitate Lassie and her beau going at it hammer and tongs. Admittedly, “freak dancing” is not “having sex,” but it certainly doesn’t bring gathering flowers to mind.
For you teenagers out there (who probably stopped reading about five paragraphs ago), the thing about sex is this: It’s not going away. Trust me, it’ll still be there when you’re a few years older and wiser. That being the case, you might want to hold off for a while – despite the urgings of MTV – and give yourself time to just be young.
As for dancing, try facing your partner, slowing down a bit, and holding each other gently. Some pretty fair romances have started in this manner and it has the added benefit of not sending adults into near apoplexy.
It might also help if, while away from your peers, you’d spend a few moments looking up a few very old-fashioned terms like “etiquette,” “propriety,” “respect” and “restraint.” Doing so might prevent you from having to learn what a lot of us old fogies (who were also teenagers once) learned the hard way.
There are now calls to ban this “dance style” at school functions. I’m for it. Parents and school officials did the same thing to us (think “The Alligator”) and we survived. In fact, a few years later, most of us understood why and were silently thankful.
For the record, this generation will eventually find something they want to ban and their kids will hate them for it, too.
It’s called history and it has a tendency to repeat itself.
Larry Simoneaux lives in Edmonds. Comments can be sent to larrysim@att.net.
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