In the winter of 1982, I was very excited to be going to one of my first youth group dances. I was a freshman of 14, but I looked more like 10 years old... petite, skinny, with mosquito bites on my chest. I wore a black sleeveless jumpsuit, with a red & black checked shirt and black booties (yep, I can still see this outfit like it was yesterday and it was one of my faves). I arrive in the social hall with a few of my friends, who scan the place for familiar faces.

Suddenly, Joel Wasserman pops up in front of me & drags me out on the floor, just as the DJ plays a new Clash song. It's much different than their punky stuff from a few years before, but it's still political and it has a great beat... "Shareef don't like it. Rock the Casbah. Rock the Casbah". I'm twisting and jumping about, when one of Joel's hands brushes against mine and I feel the callouses on his palms. You see, he was a gymnast and took great pleasure in sharing his calloused, blistered hands to us girls, who would utter "Eeeewww!" and "Gross!", never realising they were his badges of honour from hours spent practicing on the rings or pommel horse. I had a big crush on Joel, and was simply thrilled to be dancing beside him, so I could sneak glances into his dreamy brown eyes. I knew his family from synagogue and he had a very rich, handsome father, skinny dyed blond mother, along with a fat redheaded younger sister (she later appeared on an episode of the �Oprah Winfrey Show� about kids who were teased for being overweight). I was clearly not of the same social status, but I was hopeful that he'd like me anyway.

To impress him, I began rattling off facts about The Clash, while the music pumped away and other kids danced around us to "that crazy Casbah sound". Unfortunately, he wasn't really paying much attention to me at this point, because the uber-popular Ruth Werner has sidled up to him on the dance floor, and the two were pretty much oblivious to my presence.

I don't remember what happened after that point... Did I get mad? Did I get embarrassed? Did I storm off to the girls� bathroom to cry?... Who knows? All I do know is that for the last 24 years, whenever I hear �Rock The Casbah�, I am instantly transported to that first memory of hearing the song and my awkward, '80�s teenage years.

Ellen Marshall has always loved nature, art, movies and music, and has a special place in her heart for British bands of the 80's & 90's. She has contributed writings to the San Francisco-based magazine Morbid Curiosity and the critically respected independent movie website www.filmthreat.com. Ellen currently resides in the Chicago area with her Scottish emigre writer husband Graham Rae and their cat Bailey.

© 2006 Laura Hird All rights reserved.