“Aren’t you a bit old to be here?”
That was the question – or for him, the statement –
that greeted me in the early hours of a recent Saturday morning on one of our
local dance floors. I must admit, I gave this twink the look of death to show
my indifference to his perception.
I mean, since when have we, as a community, even given
contemplation to this idea, that age deems us no longer a spot on the
dancefloor? Surely it’s a place of joy and escape, a place to let your hair
down, and to be yourself – no matter your age.
I’ve been around many years and I know the sense of
celebration dance floors at big parties like Mardi Gras brings. It’s always
been where our tribes, of all ages, share their place in our community, our
family.
Some people of my vintage no longer take the plunge by
choice, but I know they will agree that if we want, we will dance until we
drop. The way our tribes come together and share these spaces is a Sydney
phenomenon. Many visitors remark they don’t see this camaraderie elsewhere,
which many of those who went before us worked so hard to establish and
nurture.
For me it’s been a place where magic has happened and
where memories of our shared social history have been created.
