Harmless Rebellion Through Song

Today, I’m focusing on one particular dance memory that always brings a sly smile to my face. It’s tied to a song that was equal parts fun and ridiculous — and, for me, a perfectly safe outlet for a bit of harmless, naughty rebellion.

When I say ridiculous, I mean it most affectionately. My friends and I made it our mission to alter the lyrics as Billy Idol sang along. For one rare, glorious moment, swearing in school wasn’t scolded. For a straight-and-narrow kid like me, Mony Mony became a secret permission slip — a way to step just far enough out of my comfort zone to feel daring. A slight lyrical twist gave us that electric spark of rebellion we didn’t even know we needed.

I remember those dances were held in the high school foyer — a fascinating space in itself. The building had been designed by an architect known for designing prisons, which gives you an idea of the aesthetic. You’d walk in the front doors and see the main staircase rising straight ahead, leading to the second floor, with another set of stairs beyond that for the third. Each level branched off into wings that felt, quite literally, like cell blocks.

But for those nights, that same foyer transformed. The open center became a swirling, echoing dance floor, alive with sound and laughter that carried all the way up to the ceiling three stories above.

Even thirty years later, I can still see it — as clear as if it were yesterday. I was surrounded by a large circle of friends, facing the door to the Little Theater. Our one cool guidance counselor stood near the wall just beyond it, watching over the crowd. I’m not dissing the others, but this one was a musician — a trumpet player — and the only counselor who never tried to talk me out of taking too many music classes. He got us. He understood what it meant to be a “music kid.”

Then it happened. Mony Mony started to play.

A rush of excitement hit — we all knew what was coming. If you’re familiar with the song, you know those two little measures of silence between each sung line. Space. Waiting to be filled.

And we filled them.

Loudly. Gleefully. Unapologetically.

“Hey, you slut — get laid, get fed!” echoed through the foyer in a collective roar. When the chorus hit, instead of shouting Mony Mony, we yelled Fing Horny!

I honestly don’t know where that version originated — probably passed down from older kids like a mischievous oral tradition. But in that moment, shouting those words felt electric. We weren’t supposed to swear in school. Yet there we were — yelling forbidden words with fire and rhythm, laughing through the rush of it all.

I remember glancing at our guidance counselor. His face was caught between the battle of professionalism and laughter. He wasn’t shocked or angry. He didn’t rush to shut it down. He just stood there, trying not to crack a smile.

And that — that was everything.

Because in that moment, the adults let us have it. They allow that harmless rebellion to breathe. No one was hurt. No one was out of control. We were just alive — teenagers testing the edge of permission, finding joy in the small defiance of it all.

That night taught me something I’ve carried into adulthood and my own teaching:

Sometimes, harmless rebellion is good for the spirit.

Sometimes, you need to let the music move you past the lines drawn in chalk.

And sometimes, the kindest thing an adult can do is let young people find those tiny, safe cracks in the structure — little windows of freedom where they can breathe, laugh, and be wholly themselves.

Did your school have its own “lyrical rebellion”?

Did you change the words to Mony Mony or some other song that made you feel deliciously daring?

Share your story in the comments — I’d love to hear what your harmless rebellion sounded like.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=386BTUsiPaI