In my family, birthdays are celebrated with a lovely meal, ice cream instead of cake, a few well-chosen gifts and wine. This year was a big one for me—my 60^th. So when I was asked how I wanted to celebrate, I thought about this past year with COVID, of missing family and friends, of living through a time of huge social, political and psychological unrest. And then, I recalled one of the happiest times of my life: I’d just turned 18. Fresh out of high school, I was headed to college where I’d plant the seeds for my future. In my young mind, the possibilities were exciting and endless.

Remembering that happy time, I told my family I wanted to recall that special summer, when every weekend was an opportunity to hang with friends, to cut loose before September took us in different directions. I wanted to celebrate my 60th with a disco party.

I loved disco. Still do. Be honest: can you really listen to Donna Summer sing “Last Dance” and not, at the very least, tap your feet? Doesn’t the sound of the Bee Gees’ falsetto get you up and out of your seat? Don’t you know that everyone looks better in the glow of a mirrored disco ball?  

Back in the day, even getting ready to go out with my girlfriends for a night of disco dancing made me happy. Curling back the “wings” of my Farrah Fawcett hairdo and lacquering them into place with a blast of Final Net. Applying baby blue eyeshadow just so; glossing my mouth with Bonnie Bell Lip Smackers before spritzing a little Charlie perfume in the crease of each elbow. We all donned the same disco uniform: a stretchy tank top leotard—or, in a pinch, a one-piece swim suit—and a full, swingy circle skirt made of Qiana. Not “quinoa,” the trendy grain. I’m talking about the super silky, stretchy, shiny fabric that never wrinkled, even if you sat on a barstool for hours with your skirt inadvertently crunched up under your butt.

But here’s the thing: I long ago retired my disco outfits to Goodwill. So when I went looking (hello Amazon) for a replacement outfit for my party, I discovered that they no longer make Qiana. Which, in retrospect, is a good thing. Created by the chemical giant DuPont, I’m sure the fabric was eventually proclaimed a major fire hazard (especially back then, when smoking was actually permitted in bars). Perusing Amazon’s disco offerings, what I found was mostly 70s fashion: bell bottom jumpsuits, super short skirts, lots of Peter Max/psychedelic colors and patterns. Not a single circle skirt/leotard combo to be found.

So I let go of my Qiana memories and instead ordered a short, fireproof, 70s-style swing dress, but in a disco ball print. (Best of both worlds.) Besides, even if I had found a Qiana skirt, I would have worried all night about getting too close to a candle. With grandkids in attendance, you can’t be too careful.

I also fulfilled a secret, lifelong dream and bought a pair of shiny, white, patent leather go-go boots. Back in 1979, I’d have worn platform sandals to dance the night away. But in my 60^th year, I reasoned that I’d probably fall off of platform shoes and besides, while Nancy Sinatra’s song, “These Boots are Made for Walking” came out when I was five, the go-go boots were definitely in keeping with the disco vibe of my dance party.

The big night finally arrived. As I pulled on my shiny white boots, the Bee Gee’s song, “More Than a Woman,” popped into my head. I felt 18 again, full of the promise of a bright future just like the Donna Summer song, “Hot Stuff” (but without the flammable disco skirt). My family looked pretty hot as well, grandkids included, in their tie-dye and glitter, curly perms, white bell bottoms and shiny jumpsuits. Even the dogs got in on the act, mirrored disco balls hanging from their collars.

Most days, I’m in disbelief that more than 40 years have passed since my disco days. I don’t feel 60, except for my arthritic shoulder, my tight IT bands and my creaky back after a day in the garden or babysitting the kids. Last Saturday night, dancing to Sister Sledge’s “We are Family,” with my oldest granddaughter Zoe in my arms, I relived the joy of my youth even as I felt my back ache and my feet cramp in my go-go boots.

Should society have come further than it has since that long ago summer of my 18th year? No doubt. But during this past year, the world has gotten a glimpse of what it looks like when we don’t look out for each other or our planet, of what happens when we care only about ourselves. And most of us, especially those of us who aren’t old white men who have been in control up until now, didn’t like what we saw. As painful as it was, that glimpse also opened up all kinds of possibilities. The world is changing and nothing can stop it. I’m excited to see what comes next, eager to help and hopeful that people and leaders who aren’t old and white and men, will usher in a brighter and more equitable future for all. I feel as full of hope now as I did during the summer of my 18^th birthday, even with my creaky, achy, 60-year-old body, including my cramping feet.

Now, if we can only bring disco back.