It is 6:30 p.m. and I have just arrived at home. Rushing to ready myself as fast as I can for several hours of line dancing, carousing and a scrumptious meal at the Alpine Restaurant in Torrance, CA. Now it is 7:00 p.m., and I have my mind set on a beef dip sandwich and a bowl of the best potato soup. My dad gives me a ride and drops me off at the front entrance of the restaurant at the Alpine Village.
I kiss my dad good-bye and walk through the front doors. I pick up a schedule from the maitre'd and start walking across the restaurant to my favorite table. The schedule has a monthly listing of band performances that are also used as place mats at the dinner tables. To me, there is nothing like a Thursday night of dancing at the Alpine Restaurant with my friends.
Of coarse, I do not make it all the way to my awaiting table. I see familiar faces along the way as most of my friends begin to surround me with their questions about college and life. My friends are the "regulars", like myself. I give them all hugs as they compliment me on my dancing outfit. I love my friends, as they are like family to me. Most of them are old enough to be my grandparents, but I enjoy their company.
I finally make it to my table where my closest friends are waiting for the music to begin. We are a combination of many different age groups and have never lost the art of knowing how to talk about life in real terms of endearment. Casey is 15; Lyno is 30; Tracy is 25; Roselyn is 19: Travis is 70; and my mom well...