Little Red Corvette

Summer of 1984.

We were living in Starrett City, when it was still sorta nice (but clearly on its way down).

That was the summer my folks enrolled me in day camp, through the local community center. It got us out of the house, filled our days with activities for a good stretch of summer, yet it wasn't the huge commitment of sleepaway camp. No matter where the day took us—Coney Island, Jones Beach, the movies—we always ended right back at home.

Kids were divided into groups by age and gender. The boys I was with were a grade below me in school, only because my folks started me a little early on account of my January birthday.

Still... third/fourth grade, bunch of urban, fresh-air-fund youths... these weren't the nicest lot of boys. Most of them were already full-blown assholes, on their way toward something worse.

We'd pile into these big yellow buses that would take us on our day-long adventures: it was like a busload of loud, rude gremlins.

But the radio would be cranked up. And I remember this one time, Prince's Little Red Corvette started playing... and this busload of fresh-air-fund boys spontaneously busted out singing along with Prince...


But it was Saturday night—
I guess that makes it all right—
And u say what have I got 2 lose...?

And honey I say...

LITTLE RED CORVETTE!!!

Baby you're much 2 fast...

LITTLE RED CORVETTE!!!

U need a love that's gonna last...
We all sang along. Bunch of sunburned 8-year-old boys howling about loving fast women on a hot summer day.

Something so absurdly funny and innocent about it. That a pop song like that could unite such a motley load of scumbag kids like that.

I wonder if that innocence even exists today. I feel like every generation loses just a little more innocence than the last—through advances in technology and culture. Of course, every generation owns something unique.

But every generation loses something unique, too...