Sunglasses at Night

Sunglasses at Night.

Last week, my husband and I were on vacation in the Bahamas, and when we weren’t snorkeling, we were hanging on the beach. No one loves 80s music more than he does, so it was playing the whole time we were on the beach. One afternoon, Sunglasses at Night came on, and I was transported in time…

The year was 1985. I was a wide-eyed, naïve college freshman. It was a good kind of naïvete. I thought I could do anything. I thought I was well-equipped. I was making new friends left and right at my new college and in my new sorority. It was a good time. And to add to the good time, my whole pledge class had a retreat to Six Flags Over Georgia. But wait…there’s more! If you know anything about 1985, you know Corey Hart was still red hot after his hit single, Sunglasses at Night was released in 1984. The album it was on, First Offense, went platinum in the US and quadruple platinum in Canada (Hart is Canadian).

Soon after we learned we were going to Six Flags, someone in our pledge class discovered Corey Hart would be performing there on the day we were there! MTV was alive and well in 1985…back when it actually played music videos…and we knew Corey Hart was easy on the eyes.

Early one September morning, we all boarded a bus at about 5am and sang along to the Violent Femmes on the way to the outskirts of Atlanta. I was well-versed with Six Flags, because I loved rollercoasters, and I had been riding the coasters at that particular theme park my whole life…starting with the Great American Scream Machine, which at the time was the world’s fastest wooden coaster, when I was nine years old. To read about my first rollercoaster experience, click here.

For two hours, we sang the Violent Femmes Blister in the Sun…”when I’m-a walkin’, I strut my stuff, and I’m all strung out…” all the way to Six Flags. I’m sure we sang other things and played trivia games on the bus, but the main thing I remember about the ride? The Violent Femmes.

When we arrived at Six Flags, somehow we divided into smaller groups. We were all pretty new to each other, so I’m not quite sure how the groups formed, but somehow, everyone ended up in a group of new friends. For the entire day, we rode rollercoasters, took a break by riding a boat through the Tales of the Okefenokee ride (later renamed/redesigned as Monster Plantation and now, Monster Mansion), ate lots of junk food, and just laughed and talked…getting to know each other better. It was a memorable day.

I think we were scheduled to board the bus at 8pm, but we had all learned Hart would start playing his concert at 7pm. Clearly, we wouldn’t get to be there for the whole thing, but we could be there for part of it. A little before 7pm, we all met up near the back stage of the park. Fortunately, it was near the parking lot, so we would be able to listen right up till time to board the bus.

Also, we were lucky he started playing on time, so we were able to hear a lot. By this time, he had released another album, titled Boy in the Box, so he had new music he wanted to share. I vividly remember he played Never Surrender, and every teenage girl in the crowd swooned. He played a few other songs from the new album, and we were afraid we would have to leave and miss Sunglasses at Night, but just in time, we heard the familiar opening notes. We were able to stay for the whole song before we ran to the bus, all laughing and talking about Corey Hart. We had bonded over rollercoasters and Corey Hart…and we all remember it to this day.

So yes, for a few minutes on the beach in the Bahamas last week, I was a naïve 18-year-old college freshman again. I told my husband about the Six Flags concert experience, and we both laughed. We then listened to Never Surrender, just so I could reminisce a little more.

Fortunately, I’m no longer so naïve…or maybe that’s not a good thing? There is something refreshing about being unjaded and ignorant about the real world. But there’s something soothing about having the knowledge one can only acquire over the course of 50+ years.

It’s nice to know we can be transported by music for a few minutes, though. And if you’re wondering, I was wearing my Rayban Wayfarers while I listened to those tunes on the beach…taking me back, not only to that day at Six Flags, but also to my memories of seeing Risky Business in the movie theater for the first time.

Great memories!

Retreat

Retreat. It’s a word I never want to hear unless someone is telling me to run from a bear, as in, “Retreat! There’s a bear!” Chances are I will never hear that, since I never put myself in a place where bears are…but that’s a story for another day. Today, I’m talking about retreats.

Years ago, a friend invited me to join her on a “ladies retreat.” I’m sure I asked her to repeat the question, because I couldn’t have heard her correctly. I was thinking, “Clearly, she doesn’t know me well. If she did, she would know I think the very idea of a ladies retreat sounds like Hell on earth.” No joke. Very little sounds worse to me than women going up to some little camp in the mountains, sitting around talking about their feelings. Yuck. I don’t mean to be offensive. I know some people love that stuff. I’m just not one of them. The last thing I want to do is be holed up somewhere with a random bunch of women. Don’t get me wrong. I love my friends, but I’m picky about how I spend my time. My time is valuable, y’all, so I’m choosy about who I spend it with. The older I get, the pickier I am. I barely have enough time to spend with my real friends. I’d much rather pick some fun stuff to do with them than go on some “ladies retreat.” It’s just who I am. No excuses.

For years, I’ve believed “retreat” is just another word for “mandatory, forced fun,” which doesn’t sound like fun at all. I hear about people going on work retreats, church retreats (***those were actually fun when I was a teenager and they were co-ed***), ladies retreats, and my personal favorite…a retreat for students at school. Nothing says “mandatory, forced fun” more than a school retreat.

Our daughter is starting her senior year in high school. She has endured more than a few school retreats. And when I say “endured,” I mean it. I’m not talking bad about the school. I’m just saying she has her mama’s genes…she hates the idea of “retreats,” too. We also hate the word “mandatory,” and it seems that’s always attached to a school retreat. I wish I could remember which grade was which retreat. One year, they went to a YMCA camp. Maybe 5th grade? I don’t remember, but I do remember that I volunteered to chaperone overnight, which meant I got to sleep on one of those horrible plastic-wrapped, thin, noisy camp mattresses in a cabin with a bunch of girls. It was not fun. It was fun spending time with the girls, but the sleep quality was nothing short of miserable. One girl in the bunk next to mine tossed and turned and tossed and turned, and because of the awful plastic mattress, I heard every toss and every turn. Eventually, I whispered, “Is there a problem?” No answer, but the tossing and turning stopped. Soon thereafter, I fell asleep, but every time someone moved, I awoke in a panic, because I thought someone was falling out of a top bunk. Fortunately, that didn’t happen. But one night was enough for me. It was enough for my daughter too. The next morning, she begged me to take her home with me, but she had to stay for more activities. Poor kid. I felt terrible for her, because I wouldn’t have wanted to be there either.

Because I went on that trip, I never had to do another one. I was off the hook, but our daughter wasn’t. She’s like me…she loves not camping. And that’s OK! Give me a nice hotel with room service any day of the week, but please don’t ever ask me to sleep in a cabin, a tent, or an RV. We simply aren’t those people. The next year, when the “retreat” rolled around, she was begging me not to make her go. We were sitting in her bed two nights before. She was already dreading it. I was explaining that she had to go. You know…”it might be fun!” I knew she didn’t want to sleep in a cabin. And while we were talking, I noticed a nasty-looking bump/wound on her knee. When I said, “That looks like a staph infection to me! You might not have to go if it’s a staph infection,” she couldn’t believe her good luck! I circled it with a Sharpie, to see if the redness grew overnight. I’m sure she prayed for it to be a staph infection that night. The next morning, the redness had expanded outside the Sharpie circle, so I took her to the doctor, and the doctor confirmed it: staph infection. She prescribed an oral antibiotic and ordered her to stay home from the retreat. Success! Who knew she’d be so happy to have a staph infection?!?

There was another retreat the next year, and maybe the next year. I have trouble keeping up with all the mandatory, forced fun. And then today, she had her senior mandatory, forced fun…a day trip (in the rain) to a local camp, where they had a book talk about their mandatory (ugh) summer reading (for over an hour!) before having lunch (she ate Oreos) and swimming in a “lake.” I should also note here that we don’t do warm, brown water, as in lake water. On the rare occasion, I have had to get in a warm lake, but generally speaking, it’s not my thing. I don’t mind it up north, where the lakes are cold, but in the south, the brown water just feels like it’s teeming with bacteria and snakes…lots of snakes. No, thank you. (No offense to the lake lovers of the world. It’s just not my thing.) As I’ve heard before, “I’m outdoorsy in that I like having cocktails on the patio.” That’s a joke, of course; I like outdoor activities…just not in warm brown water.

Today, she rode the bus to and from the “retreat” with her classmates and tolerated the mandatory, forced fun. They rode home on a hot bus filled with seniors. I did the math. Statistically, at least a few of them must have COVID. There were 140 kids on buses. (Yes, the plural of “bus” is “buses.” “Busses” would be kisses. If you doubt me, click here.) Praying there isn’t a giant outbreak from the mandatory, forced fun.

The good news? The “retreat” is over. Thank you, Lord. And now we proceed with her final year of high school.

So, if you ever plan a “ladies retreat,” please don’t invite me. It won’t hurt my feelings.