When my sisters and I were kids, we didn’t bond over much. We had very different interests, were just far part enough in age to not share friends, and had a healthy case of general sibling rivalry. We did however, all love music. In the early 80’s when Member’s Only jackets were in style and “jam-boxes” were all the rage, my sister Judy would borrow tapes from her friends and make copies of the ones I liked. It was sweet and generous; she did it for no other reason than she knew it would make me happy. Among the many albums she gave to me was Lionel Richie’s hit album “Can’t Slow Down”. I LOVED Lionel Richie. (He won a Grammy Award for Album of the Year in 1985 for “Can’t Slow Down” beating out Born in the U.S.A. by Bruce Springsteen and Purple Rain by Prince. Stop judging me; you loved him, too). I played that tape to death, and ultimately warped it beyond repair, so, Judy made me a new one.

This morning as I was driving the neighborhood kids through the carpool line, “All Night Long”, one of the album’s many hits, came on, inciting five kids who’d never heard it to boogie in their seats. (“Tom bo li de say de moi ya, yeah, jambo jumbo…don’t lie, you’re singing it in your head already). A rush of memories flooded my mind, and I could see Judy’s young face smiling and singing along with me in the back room of our home. The kids jumped from the car and I was left alone with the chorus which was begging me to sway sing along, but instead I was suddenly awash in sobs. I felt as if I’d been hit in the face with a 30 pound jam-box. I pulled to the shoulder to collect myself, and to live the fleeting vivid memory of my sister, young, healthy, and dancing.

Moments later, the song ended, and my memory was interrupted by Eddie Murphy’s “Party All the Time”, which is arguably the worst song ever written and produced. The robust memory that had enveloped me so completely was gone, and I pulled back into traffic to head home and jump back into the reality of my daily grind. Time to ice my face before my first meeting so my puffy eyes don’t show, and try to get some real work done today because Judy would hate it if I were unproductive because I was crying for her. But first, rather than sweep this all away, I am going to put on one of her t-shirts and play “All Night Long” as loudly as I can on the big-screen TV, and shake it like it’s the 80’s.

Judy would want us to DANCE.