SATURDAY NIGHT AT THE COMMUNITY CENTER

SATURDAY NIGHT AT THE COMMUNITY CENTER
By Gwendie Roberts Camp
 
Saturday night dance at the Community Center.  At least half of Fort Pierce Junior High School would be there, plus a few kids from White City and St. Lucie.  The ritual was boys on one side, girls on the other.  The jukebox, controlled by Mr. Lewis, the 8th grade science teacher, played alternately “slow” and “fast” songs---“This Old House”, “Davy Crockett” (which we sang along to), “Blue Suede Shoes”, “Heartbreak Hotel.”  Those kids who were “going steady” were the only ones who danced to the slow numbers but most everyone was on the floor for the fast numbers—girls dancing with girls, boys dancing by themselves along the sidelines. 
 
Once in a rare while one of the unattached boys would ask an unattached girl to slow dance.  On a good night, I might get asked once.  On a very good night.  In fact, it was pretty painful being at these dances, wondering if anyone was ever going to ask you to dance, afraid that geeky George would be the one to get up the nerve to invite you onto the floor.  The only thing worse than being at one of these Saturday night dances was NOT being at the Saturday night dance.
 
As I recall, there wasn’t much going on in the way of either sex or romance.  We were a previous generation, unexposed to much public sex or romance, except for the handholding and neck nuzzling that took place in the high school corridors and which we had heard about.
 
It’s hard to remember or to even imagine what the thoughts were that ranged through our early pubescent minds.  I recall worrying a lot, but just what exactly I worried about has mostly vanished, except I do remember that I’d worry whether Daddy would remember to pick me up at 11:00.  Once when my aunt Libby was supposed to pick up my cousin and me, she went to sleep and didn’t come.  I didn’t want a repeat of that.  It was very uncool to be left standing on the sidewalk when everyone else had been picked up.  No self-respecting junior high kid wants to be noticed in any way whatsoever.