Seventy

Seventy

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Disco



The things I am about to do have sired this story. Much of it had to do with a Spanish soccer player who decided to sing instead. Funny, alright. That was in the seventies, with big screens, big sound and what I thought were bigger stories than mine. My uncles rocked huge platform shoes fashioned in the most offensive colour schemes known to mankind, yet I loved them and the denim bell bottom pants. Crazy cool!

There is so much more than the platform shoes; the Bianca and the spoon; the jewfros and the blaxploitations. Strange, eh? We were all together in Disco! Wooo! Mother used to live in New York after the divorce and she called the best of discos Studio Filthy-Whore, hahahaha!

I’m haunted and tormented like no one else on this Earth in my cynical and myopic view of all things, but what I miss the most were the nights when my Mother had no babysitter and took me to the Disco. My mother was a very progressive woman, ahead of her times and certainly not “all there”. In the Seventies, when she was a single parent she took me out to a film theater and I listened to Julio Iglesias for the first time. Look him up.


© Text: Orlando Barahona
© Image: Thomas Kramer/Flickr

Creative Commons License This work by Orlando Barahona is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-NoDerivatives 4.0 International License. 

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