Years ago in Paris I was bored and alone in my room and discovered how to rip music and movies on the internet - a revelation. Out of curiosity I put in the first thing that came into my mind.
And I nearly fell off my chair because not only did the song come up, but the original 1975 video too.
It was real.
My hands pressed on my face as I watched in awe as the very roots of my baby imagination danced on the screen.
Do you remember it?
There is a very select group of kids, all exactly my age, who remember the Butterfly Ball. It was my lifetime quiz. 'Do you remember the Butterfly Ball? No." I actually spent much of my life thinking I'd dreamt it. Like Rhonda, the little black girl I used to have over to play at our house, whom everyone in my family still thinks I made up. 'Where's the salt? Rhonda must have taken it. Why didn't Sister Bunny come home last night? Must have been out playing with Rhonda.' But Rhonda wasn't made up, and neither was the Butterfly Ball. It happened on TV, but only for about one year, just before Sesame Street in the afternoons. And I would go to sleep at nights and my two or three-year-old brain would be full of singing frogs and spider-pigs and coffee-mug men and drunk lizards and caterpillar trains and worm-eating moles and giant toads and little dancing birds.
And now I knew it was real.
Thank Goodness for Pirate Bay. Our parents must have had their own Rhondas and Butterfly Balls but lived their whole lives not being believed and thinking they dreamt things. It's an amazing feeling to be proved.
Though I still for the life of me can't find a single photo of Rhonda.