When: September 1996 (and by extension the entire fall semester)
Where: Don Benito School
Who: My first grade class
I’ve discussed the prospect of being forced to dance before, but this time it was different. I didn’t want to dance in 1993 because I was tired. This time, the dance was so transparently stupid and instantly dated, even to a seven-year-old, that dancing to it was an act of temporal humiliation, the modern equivalent of burning witches or voting for Dukakis.
As discussed before, my early exposure to adulthood was fun, but now I was desperate to grow up. And trying to influence my teachers was part of that. My teacher was good already, one of the best, but the fact remains that we had to do the macarena every thursday for three months. And I couldn’t do anything about it.
Next: The most life-changing movie I never saw