“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.