divinewrites

I spoke with my oldest the other day, inquiring whether he would be attending the upcoming formal dance.  In that moment, he shrugged and said that he probably wouldn’t and that he was not sure he’d have anyone to go with this time.  I listened and realized that he had not attended any dances in middle school, I wanted him to have these experiences.  I smiled and gave him a bit of a hint, yes a push, in a direction that there may be someone who would love to go.  We chatted, I waited to hear any more information and was rewarded by some awesome news!  My oldest is going to his first formal dance in a couple of weeks!  (squeal~~SQUEAL!)

He informed me that he had taken my advice (what?) and ventured out in courage, asked, and was affirmed!  He’s going to his first formal!!!!  I am beside myself excited for him.

Details are murky-he told me what he could with a big ole grin on his face-she had checked with her mom to make sure it was cool-all thumbs up granted he informed her that “I can’t pick you up, I don’t drive yet.”  When she responded that she doesn’t drive either yet, he replied, “A stretched limo it is….!”  Uh no, but nice try.

I am so thankful that he told me.  We were alone-traveling out-of-town, and he gave me the low down and was so excited to share it with me.  Yes, I squealed….I still am.  And, I caught the 2 tears that traveled down my own cheeks. He looked at me quizzically to which I revealed…..

I told him that inside every girl, woman, young lady, is a desire to feel beautiful, respected, and the belle of the ball.  We don’t need to be princesses, but we all want to be asked to the dance-we all want to pick out our outfits, dress up, see our date walk to the door, and have them escort us down the sidewalk.  We all want to enter the dance on their arm, float to the dance floor, and lose ourselves in a slow song.  It does not matter how unfrilly the young lady is, she wants to feel and be beautiful and to know someone else thinks so too. She had told him that she had wanted to go, but didn’t have anyone to go with….BIG OPENING!!! And, he took it.  After going over how he will treat her and what he will remember, we talked a bit more.

I know how she feels because I wanted it too.  My oldest son is a goober-he spends a ton of time on war simulation games, is hyper focused on airplanes and history, loves highly intelligent conversation, sometimes tries too hard, and has not yet fine-tuned his “look”( showers are just now becoming more important-he’ll get there).  I have been so scared that he would miss out on those opportunities because I know how cruel the social confines are in high school.  I did not want that to happen to him-I did not want him thinking that he wasn’t worthy or important.  I didn’t want him left out.

I was.  There’s a scene in Pretty in Pink https://youtu.be/O3cCbp_6IoQ   where Annie Potts discusses going to her prom.  It resonates.  Many think it’s no big deal-“hey, you’re 44, life goes on, get over it.”  Yeah, you’re right.  I’m 44 and I’ve never been to my prom.  Never went shopping for that dress for ANY formal dance, never saw my date walking up to my door, never had the clumsy corsage pinning moment, never had any pictures taken by giggling parents too excited to stop snapping. I went to one Valentine’s dance my in 1990 after returning home from a debate tournament, where I barely had time to shower and put one a frilly, lacy pink dress that I had borrowed.  The rest of those 4 years passed with nary an invitation to one dance.  While my classmates paired off or even found themselves supporting each other en mass, I sat at home, knowing full well what people thought of me.  My younger brother even attended my senior prom with a date-and he was a sophomore. (good for him!)

I didn’t want that for my oldest.  I didn’t want him to feel cast aside-I didn’t want him to question his worth based on whether or not you got asked-or got up enough nerve to ask.  The fact is, there were a few isolated instances where I did broach the subject of going to a dance with me-it was never accepted.  I know what this young lady feels.  I know why she said that she wanted to go, but prolly wouldn’t because she didn’t have anyone to go with.  I get it.  She wants to go.

You see, for just a minute, a mere blip on my timeline, I wanted to feel special.  I knew that I wasn’t pretty.  I didn’t wear the name brand clothes, I had no figure to speak of, and most of my classmates would tell you I was flat-out ugly.  I knew that.  I didn’t have a handle on a hairstyle and make up yet.  (I do now!) I was hyper focused on debate and interp to the point of insane competitiveness.  Most of all, I didn’t like me, not even an ounce.  I remember walking around the block that our elementary school sat on, predicting what the next 6 years would be like.  I was right, some of that was a self-fulfilling prophecy, some of it was out of my control.

But damn, I wanted that chance more than I can say.  And every time that Sweetheart Dance, Prom, or other formal came, I sat in my room and cried.  I wandered down to the lake shore, sat on the rocks, and poured my heart out to the fish, who I was convinced would turn into coachmen like Cinderella, and whisk me off to the ball.  Every time that happened it further cemented the belief that I was less than-that no matter what I did, it would never be good enough.  That I would never be pretty enough, witty enough, or simply enough to garner an invitation.  And, yah, after 25-30 years it still hurts.

I didn’t want that for my son.  Which is why in the midst of all my smiles, (which still cover my face), I swiped away tears that revealed decades of hurt (there they go again).  So far, the patterns are breaking and new realities are being realized and I rejoice for him.  This time around, I will take him shopping, coach him on the corsage color, snap a gazillion pics, and smile.  In the quiet of my room, I will find a heart wrenching movie and have myself a cathartic cry and wait for the next go around to celebrate all that my son is becoming.