Picture it. Southern Wisconsin 1984. Two children- a boy, age 10, and a girl, age 5, are about to make music history. Over their heads, they pull on the clean briefs they found in the laundry basket, placing the leg holes around their ears . They rip off their pants and stand, legs akimbo, in the middle of their living room- he in his superman Underoos and she in her Wonder Woman. Each clench an invisible microphone while the electrifying zing of a guitar blares through the speakers. The children dance to the wild cacophony of saxophone, guitar and drums until the chorus breaks.
More than once, my brother and I were thankful our mother did not own a video recorder. She did, however, have a cassette player. To this day, the cassette resides in her underwear drawer, ready and waiting.