Disco (Really) Is Dead

Sitting at the dinner table a few days before school started, our family began the annual ritual of naming all the goals we had not yet achieved for the summer. Weekly trips to the library (we hit the pool), visiting museums (we saw “Wall-E”), cleaning out closets (did I mention the pool?).

And then Dave brought one up. “You never did Pioneer Week this summer, did you?” The kids dropped their forks and looked at me. They’d heard of my friend Susan’s summers with Pioneer Week, living without electricity or running water just for the experience, and they wanted no part. They held their breath waiting for an answer.

“No,” I told him, “I hadn’t even planned on it.” The kids simultaneously exhaled. “Do you really want to spend a week sleeping in the living room on straw beds with all our kids and no TV, PC, or A/C?”

“Oh, I was going to have to do it too?” he replied. “Never mind.”

Suddenly I had an idea.

“Maybe we should try ‘70’s week!” I announced. The kids looked confused. We’ve never had anything nice to say about the ‘70’s and they know it.

I continued, “We’ll watch 4 channels on the little tv in the basement and listen to the Commodores and rent a station wagon for the week!”

Four little jaws hit the table. They turned to their dad, hoping he’d get them out of this one.

“Now THAT sounds doable,” Dave agreed as eight little eyes rolled. “At least people had electricity and slept in their own beds. And you could dress like Farrah Fawcett....”

“And let my perfectly good Wonder Woman outfit hang in the closet all week?”

“That’s good too,” he conceded. “What will you cook?”

“You mean after Calgon takes me away? Oh, a starch with canned meat and gravy.” I heard Ellie gag. “But we’ll have Dinky Donut Cereal for breakfast and Moonpies for dessert!” I added. “So we’ll definitely need Pearl Drops Tooth Polish. It will make your teeth feel - - - “

“ - nnnnnng,” Dave finished. “Do they still make Tab?”

“I’ll look for Tab, Jiffy Pop, and B-O-L-O-G-N-A,” I sang. “And I will ask 7-11 let me pay 65 cents a gallon for gas in honor of ‘70’s week.”

“Go ahead,” Dave said, “But you might have trouble explaining to a cop why your kids aren’t wearing seat belts.” Then he added, “We could rent ‘Love Boat’ or ‘Happy Days’ for the kids, and I can probably TiVo some old ‘M*A*S*H’. Is ‘Rockford Files’ on DVD yet?”

“I don’t know, I think ‘Bionic Woman’ is. And ‘Captain Kangaroo’,” I said.

“That’s fine. Just no ‘Maude’,” he asked.

“I LOVE Maude!” I said, “….But I will leave Bea Arthur behind if you will go without ‘Kojak’.”

“What do you have against Telly Savalas?” He thought for a moment then smiled, “you know you’ll have to give up your cell phone.” Four little heads turned my way.

“Okay,” I conceded, “but you’ll have to give up your iPhone....and Fantasy Football.” Four little heads flipped to him.

“And Facebook,” his grin turned sinister.

The kids watched us like a tennis match.

“Ebay,” I threatened through a tight smile.

“Call waiting,” he mocked.

“Guitar Hero,” I retorted.

His eyes narrowed. “Did they have hair color back then?”

“What are you implying? My grandmother didn’t go gray until 1983.” I stated.

“When she was 68?” he asked.

“Yes, and it happened overnight,” I smiled, “And just so you know, it runs in my family!”

“What about Oprah? Wasn’t she still a news anchor in Baltimore back then?” he said.

“Whatever,” I smirked, “I’ll watch Phil Donohue. What will you do without Sports Center?”

“Two words: Howard Cosell!” he huffed. “But I bet your friends in Port Charles will miss you that week!”

“’General Hospital’ is 40 years old! And how did you know so much about Oprah?” This was getting ugly.

“No Matt Damon!”

“Or Jennifer Aniston!”

“Roomba!”

“GPS!”

“Target!”

"Best Buy!"

“Tall soy mochalattes!”

“Appletinis!”

“Sit on it!”

“Kiss my grits!”

“Mom?!” Amelia interrupted.

“WHAT?!” Dave and I replied.

“We’ve only got, like, three days of summer left. Couldn’t we just go to the pool like everyone else?” she said with the wisdom of Mr. Kotter.

Dave and I looked at each other.

“Fine,” I shrugged, “Anyway, I’m allergic to polyester.”

“Gloria Gaynor makes me puke,” Dave added.

So that settled it. And just like disco, this idea hit hot and heavy, but then a little punk came along and declared it was dead.