CLUBBING 2020
simmons
the creek house
Every summer my family and three others gather together on an island in South Carolina for a weekend of reuniting. The four mothers grew up together: going to the same high school and colleges. It began in August of 1995 and has happened every summer since.
Just as you can count on everyone showing up every year, you can also count on evening dancing occurring every night. While it may not be a club, the similarities are there: loud music, a DJ, sweat, heavy drinking, limited space, the offspring going outside to smoke pot. The music is probably the biggest difference. Instead of techno, current pop, or electronic, it’s hits from the ’60s and ’70s. Those were the years when the parents were coming of age, and the love for that era of music has been inherited by the children.
In the beginning, the parents danced on-and-off tables in the TV room of the house we all piled into. The children were too young and embarrassed to join in. My sister and I on separate occasions walked in on the dancing and pleaded with our parents to turn the music down so we could sleep. Once the children started to become teenagers, they joined in (facilitated by drinking and then using mouth wash so the parents wouldn’t smell the alcoholic breath). After several years of cramped boogies, a screened-in structure was built next to the marsh and named The Creek House. With a kitchen, ample space to dance, a ping pong table, and a bar, this became our one-stop-shop once 5 o’clock came around.
One year I learned the peel-a-banana dance move. Another time the current boyfriend of Ralsie picked me up for a trick on the dancefloor and accidentally dropped me. The first time I puked from drinking was after a night in The Creek House - my mom got out of bed and came to the bathroom to rub my back.
One father, Rob, has all the gear to play music and goes by the name Daddy DJ. Requests are rarely, if ever, made as he’s been spinning for us for so long. He wears over-the-ear headphones but doesn’t have a mic. He was diagnosed with Parkinson’s a few years ago, so this year we made a collaborative Spotify playlist. There were other differences this year when we came together. The vacation home that we all have come to has been put up for sale, but thankfully one of the families lives on a beach nearby and we were able to congregate there. Then there is COVID, so there were protocols put in place and less hugging and no getting up close to try and talk over the music.
There have been a few costume parties and one or two murder-mystery nights. Amy Winehouse died of alcohol poisoning on July 23, 2011, and about a week or two later, my mom dressed up as her for a British themed costume party. The wig and accent were a class-act. Looking back, she probably had the costume planned before Winehouse’s death. Had anyone else done it, it would have been crass. Other notable people that have shown up via costumes: Cyndi Lauper, The Kardashians, Sonny and Cher, Cher Horowitz of Clueless, and Princess Di & Dodi Fayed. The last costume party was my idea: Studio 54. I wore a two-piece Pucci number and did coke in the bathroom with Amelia while others posed with lines of flour for photos. Wigs, following tradition, were switched at a progressively faster pace as the night went on.
What is so special about these dancing traditions is that the only requirement is the people. We have switched locations and have even been able to do it while on vacation in other parts of the country or overseas. Boyfriends and girlfriends have come and gone, and we’ve lost some pillars - my mom passed away in February after a long and brave fight with cancer. But we all know how lucky we are to have each other, as well as such a special tradition, so you can count on those who can to keep on sweatily dancing.
Sample playlist:
Sex Bomb by Tom Jone
Just as you can count on everyone showing up every year, you can also count on evening dancing occurring every night. While it may not be a club, the similarities are there: loud music, a DJ, sweat, heavy drinking, limited space, the offspring going outside to smoke pot. The music is probably the biggest difference. Instead of techno, current pop, or electronic, it’s hits from the ’60s and ’70s. Those were the years when the parents were coming of age, and the love for that era of music has been inherited by the children.
In the beginning, the parents danced on-and-off tables in the TV room of the house we all piled into. The children were too young and embarrassed to join in. My sister and I on separate occasions walked in on the dancing and pleaded with our parents to turn the music down so we could sleep. Once the children started to become teenagers, they joined in (facilitated by drinking and then using mouth wash so the parents wouldn’t smell the alcoholic breath). After several years of cramped boogies, a screened-in structure was built next to the marsh and named The Creek House. With a kitchen, ample space to dance, a ping pong table, and a bar, this became our one-stop-shop once 5 o’clock came around.
One year I learned the peel-a-banana dance move. Another time the current boyfriend of Ralsie picked me up for a trick on the dancefloor and accidentally dropped me. The first time I puked from drinking was after a night in The Creek House - my mom got out of bed and came to the bathroom to rub my back.
One father, Rob, has all the gear to play music and goes by the name Daddy DJ. Requests are rarely, if ever, made as he’s been spinning for us for so long. He wears over-the-ear headphones but doesn’t have a mic. He was diagnosed with Parkinson’s a few years ago, so this year we made a collaborative Spotify playlist. There were other differences this year when we came together. The vacation home that we all have come to has been put up for sale, but thankfully one of the families lives on a beach nearby and we were able to congregate there. Then there is COVID, so there were protocols put in place and less hugging and no getting up close to try and talk over the music.
There have been a few costume parties and one or two murder-mystery nights. Amy Winehouse died of alcohol poisoning on July 23, 2011, and about a week or two later, my mom dressed up as her for a British themed costume party. The wig and accent were a class-act. Looking back, she probably had the costume planned before Winehouse’s death. Had anyone else done it, it would have been crass. Other notable people that have shown up via costumes: Cyndi Lauper, The Kardashians, Sonny and Cher, Cher Horowitz of Clueless, and Princess Di & Dodi Fayed. The last costume party was my idea: Studio 54. I wore a two-piece Pucci number and did coke in the bathroom with Amelia while others posed with lines of flour for photos. Wigs, following tradition, were switched at a progressively faster pace as the night went on.
What is so special about these dancing traditions is that the only requirement is the people. We have switched locations and have even been able to do it while on vacation in other parts of the country or overseas. Boyfriends and girlfriends have come and gone, and we’ve lost some pillars - my mom passed away in February after a long and brave fight with cancer. But we all know how lucky we are to have each other, as well as such a special tradition, so you can count on those who can to keep on sweatily dancing.