It's the night of the dance, 9:00 p.m. My buddy Rob is wearing blue jeans and a black leather jacket, and waiting outside the front doors of Eastview Elementary. "Where's Heather?" I ask. Pebbles crunch under our shoes and the lights from Grouse and Seymour mountains dot the sky.

"House party," says Rob. "She's coming later."

Jackie, who's with me, leads us across the soccer field. She opens a door and Rob and I follow her into the school. We walk down a hall lined with construction-paper artwork and gleaming sports trophies, and join the queue outside the gym. Inside, a few people in tight jeans and miniskirts are already bobbing to recorded music, while others sit in chairs lining the walls or crowd a refreshment table at the back. Decorations hang from basketball nets. On the stage, an electric guitar, bass and drum kit silently wait for the band to arrive.

"Who's your babysitter?" I ask.

"The Van Leeuwen girls," says Rob. "When's the last time you went out?"

"Just the two of us?" I ask.

He nods.

"Last year," says Jackie.

The kids are all right

For three years running, the North Vancouver school has organized a dance for their students' parents. Alcohol is served. No children are allowed. For one night, we are no longer the responsible ones. For the school, it's a needed fundraiser, and the money goes to the Parents' Advisory Council.

Heather joins us just as the band, called Oh Behave, takes the stage. She turns to her husband. "Are the kids okay?"

"They're fine," says Rob. Heather and Rob have three children -- ages two, five, and nine. Their middle child has Down's Syndrome. Tonight is a needed break.

Heather says tonight's event is the only night of the year she gets to dance with her husband.

It's the same for us. "We never seem to go out without the kids," says Jackie, "not the two of us, anyway. It's always hockey practice or riding lessons or soccer. When I come here, I realize how much I miss dancing."

'Walk on the wild side'

On the stage, the band presents a rugged version of Lou Reed's "Walk on the Wild Side" -- not a song I expect to hear at a public school. We talk and watch people who, for tonight only, are no longer parents. Instead, the car salesman, whom I see bringing his daughter to school every day, serenades a bevy of housewives; the woman who sang at the Christmas pageant glides across the floor with her husband. There's the man with the construction boots who can really dance; the man with the perfect hair who can't. Later, when Oh Behave plays "Just What I Needed" -- a Cars song from the '80s -- I smile. For me, that song captures the spirit of the night.

Jackie and Heather drag us to the dance floor when the band hammers out their take on Lenny Kravitz's "Fly Away." We try to dance, vaguely remembering our high school moves. It's liberating and exhilarating and nostalgic all at the same time. For sure, the night brings back memories, but the scene is also a little different. Tonight, there are no girls crying in the bathroom. There are no fistfights in the parking lot. There are no police standing guard.

And tonight, it's the principal who serves the booze. Karen Harrop, Eastview's principal, takes my drink coupon, smiles and rummages through an ice-filled cooler.

Too grown up?

Along with the drinks and the tickets at the door, they're selling raffle tickets. My buddy Rob has donated the big prize for the night -- a pair of Canucks Club Seats. When the time comes, Oh Behave takes a break, and Rob climbs on stage to award the prizes. Halfway through, he calls my name. I've won two tickets to the ballet. Again, not something I expected at a school dance. It seems a little too grown up. But tonight, it's part of the magic.

When the draws are done and the band has played their last set, it's time to go. The janitor starts collecting chairs, but we don't want the night to end. "One more song," we beg the band. The man with the boots and the housewives get to their feet. As do we -- Heather, Jackie, Rob, and I.

Oh Behave reclaims the stage, but instead of indulging us, the lead singer takes the mike. "Only if the principal says it's okay."

Everyone turns to Karen Harrop at the back of the gym. We hold our breath, waiting for her permission, until we realize we've slipped back into our childhood roles. It's too much. We look at each other and blink our adult eyes, shake our grown-up heads, and reach for our coats. But before the spell can be completely broken, Principal Harrop nods and the band begins a final song. It's not "Stairway to Heaven," but by now we know we can't completely go back. We smile anyway, toss our coats over our chair backs, and take to the dance floor one final time. Until next year.

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