It is the late 1970s. I am a toddler. I stand in my playpen holding the rail with both hands. Using my head as a guide I allow my whole upper body to move up and down with the beat. I am watching my favourite show: Hee Haw.
It is 1980. I stand in the downstairs hallway with a pink blanket tied around my neck. I hold a microphone. I belt out “Hey daddy there’s a dragon in the driveway” with Anne Murray as her record spins on my Fisher Price player.
It is 1982. I act out every song from Michael Jackson’s “Thriller” album–for Michael. His poster hangs on my closet door. Every night I take it down, stowing it safely in the closet, just in case he decides to become a werewolf while I am sleeping.
It is 1984. Santa gives me a red Sony walkman and a Kool and the Gang cassette. “Emergency, emergency. Emergency, urgent!” I sing as I slide across the floor.
It is 1985. I lie on my bed, on my back, holding the jacket for Corey Hart’s “Boy in the Box” album up over my head, singing along and thinking dreamy thoughts. I still prefer records.
It is 1986. We are at the arena. My brother is at hockey practice. My red Sony walkman is clipped to my hip. I perform full dance routines in the downstairs changeroom area hallway. My moves are as large as my voice is loud. Madonna and I sing, “True blue, baby, I love you!” Continue reading