Urban Thought Collective

7:02pm: I parked the Murano in the parking lot at the elementary school, adjacent to my daughter’s middle school where she would be attending and I would be chaperoning the first dance. Although I like to think that my not nearly healed knee made me lag further and further behind as I struggled up the hill, it occurred to me that this kid is trying to lose me like the Raiders lose games: decisively. I know I’m still cool. I tell myself that it’s a phase she’s going through and I’ll play along. But this phase has come on so suddenly…like in the last 15 seconds! It’s all good though. She had to wait in the long line, while I got to stroll right in like I was on “the list” after having a quick word with the Principal at the entrance to the Multi-Purpose Room doubling as Club Kool-Aid tonight.

7:15pm: I thought it odd that the room was so well lit, but since I was there in an official capacity I let my inner pragmatist remind me that it would be easier to keep track of the goings-on if it weren’t so dark. Three of my daughter’s little friends (much further up in the line, apparently) got in and said, “Hi Mr. Owens!” I was relieved that they looked so much like little kids and told them that my daughter was still in line when they inquired.

7:17pm: I refrained from outwardly laughing when some boy, trying to execute some dance move that probably would’ve bridged the gap between Kid n’ Play and Chris Brown, lost his balance and in his rather lengthy tumble to the floor, took out three other kids. Okay, I’m lying. I not only laughed loudly, but I doubled over holding my stomach before regaining my composure.

7:33pm: Somehow, my daughter slipped in without my noticing and I noticed her across the room with her little group of friends acting silly. I’m quite intrigued, and comforted at the same time, by the different degrees of social development on display here from the 8th grade girls wearing way too much make-up on down to the group of boys playing tag, chasing each other around the perimeter of the room and occasionally dipping out to the courtyard to run and jump from the benches.

7:36pm: Some little girl is doing the white girl dance like she just got word that Molly Ringwald has mono and they need a stunt double to finish the filming of “The Breakfast Club.” If I closed my eyes, I’d swear I was back at one of my junior high dances. I didn’t know that DJ’s still kept the “Top Gun” soundtrack or “Bananarama” in the crate. I’m still in Oakland, aren’t I? I didn’t get beamed up to some suburban, ‘80s-themed alternate universe did I? I think I would’ve been a little salty if I was trying to be cool at my dance and the DJ was playing this stuff. However, wearing my Dad/Chaperone hat tonight, I breathe a contented sigh of relief at what I’ve observed thus far. Thank God for nerdy kids and white music. These things give me comfort.

7:48pm: When Ron Isley (long before he ever was Mr. Big or inmate K34765) screamed “You know you make me wanna SHOUT! Throw my hands up and SHOUT…,” I started looking around for Doc, Biff, George and Marty McFly. My crew would’ve assaulted this DJ by now, but these kids just seem happy to be out. My daughter actually strolled by and gave me a high five.

7:56pm: “A milli..a milli..a milli….” Oh no! What are you doing?! What happened to the white music? The kids are rushing to the dance floor now but they’re not giving themselves any space to dance. There appear to be a few kids in the middle of all that trying to emulate Lil’ Wayne or do whatever they’re calling dancing these days but all the rest of them are closing in like little children scrambling to get to the candy falling out of a newly broken piñata. It’s like a rugby scrum. The Principal waded through the sea of pre-pubescent youth with his flashlight and broke things up a little bit, but not for long. What happened to the Soul Train line? It would seem to me to be a much more efficient way for your dancing skills to be showcased than his mob, mosh pit thing that they are doing.

8:13pm: I guess I should watch what I wish for. It seems like every little high pitched voice in this place is singing along with Katy Perry, claiming that they too had “kissed a girl” and liked it. I unsuccessfully scan the room for my daughter and her little friends. Hopefully they’re over in the side area eating snickerdoodles and drinking punch.

8:25pm: A little girl just dropped it like it’s hot about 10 feet in front of me, and it looks an awful lot like little Rosharia from the softball team. It is little Rosharia! Note to self: deny any and all requests for play dates at Rosharia’s house.

8:49pm: As if obligatory, the DJ played the lone slow jam selection of the night. I was a bit surprised that he opted for Iz’s version of “Somewhere Over the Rainbow” but I guess it was either that or find some Luther. These kids probably don’t know who Luther is and the lyrics of their overly explicit “crooners” (and I must use that loosely) don’t exactly lend themselves to being middle school appropriate in the least.

A couple of the other dads interrogated me at the soccer game the next day once they heard that I was in attendance. They had been left completely in the dark about the whole event. One of them told me how his wife and daughter went to do some “secret shopping” for an outfit. I was able to put them at ease and tell them how it was all pretty harmless. I sure was glad that Rosharia doesn’t play soccer though.

Destah Owens is a single father of two from Northern California and proud UCLA Bruin who travels the world for his job as a computer engineer. His blog, “Soufflés in Saigon,” is exclusive to Urban Thought Collective.