I ran across some snapshots of my mom at discothèque back in the day. She was one hot babe and clearly believed in if you've got it flaunt it! I showed them to her and chided her on scolding me for the way I like to dress when I go out steppin'. She laughed for the first time in some time and just glowed recalling those grand Seventies days. She spent her late teens and early twenties in Viet Nam, as I've written, first as an Army nurse in Cu Chi and then as a volunteer with Children's Medical Relief International in Saigon. But after she left and got back to the States she decompressed by letting it all hang out, or whatever the slang term was in those times.
Anyway, she spent her days working as a nurse and her nights clubbing, dancing to the disco beat. I asked her what her favorite songs or bands were and without hesitation she reeled off a string of names: Earth Wind and Fire, Tavares, A Taste of Honey, The Tramps, Chic, Donna Summer, Patti LaBelle -- "Gitchie gitchie ya ya da da! Voulez-vous coucher avec moi ce soir?"
"Mom!"
"Just song lyrics, child."
"Uh huh."
Looking at one photo of her sitting on the lap of a handsome young man, I asked who he was and she said, "Don't you recognize him, dear? That's your father."
Looking again at the photo, I clearly saw that it was so. She took the snapshot from me and gazed at it a long time, then held it up to her heart. "We had our times," she said. "We had our times."
