Prom Disaster - Circa 1984
We'll laugh about this someday. Some day....
There is a lot of unexpectedness when it comes to parenting. The most common for me is when I realize that I have an expectation that I didn’t realize I had.
Like “Of course my daughter will want to take dance lessons. Dance lessons are the greatest thing in the whole entire world.”
Nope. Not for everyone. Apparently.
OK. I let that go.
But the most surprising unexpectedness of parenting is when something on the horizon triggers something in your history that you had brushed aside as “not a big deal,” or something you haven’t thought about since you bolted out of your high school as fast as your K-Mart penny loafers could carry you in June of 1985.
This story is about my Junior Prom.
I don’t want you to get nervous. No one was physically harmed in the making of this story. It’s about as cringey as you’d ever want, but, that’s all. Just awkward teenager cringe.
And, I’m fine. Like I said I don’t dwell on this story. It pops up in my head every now and then, but, as an adult, I give the perpetrators (and myself) more grace. It was badly handled, but then again so were most of the 80’s.
My best friend in high school was a preacher’s daughter. I think a lot of pks (preachers kids) can go oppy in that they are the most rebellious, or experimental kids at high school, OR they can drink the kool aid and be on the path of the straight and narrow.
That was my friend. Her father wouldn’t allow her to go to the movies and so…she didn’t. It was the weirdest thing to me. Why couldn’t she go to the movies? Why was that a thing for him?
She could watch movies. She just couldn’t GO TO the movie theatre to see them.
It’s part of the frustration of teenagerhood. Or it can be. Sure, you can wait until you’re an adult and then make your own dang decisions about movie theatres, (or whatever) but when you’re 16 or 17 years old, adulthood feels like four million years away.
Dances were also out.
And by our Junior Year, our small group of five friends had splintered. One had somehow figured out how to be cool and she grew her hair into a cool long New Ro bob.
(That’s New Romantic, for those of you under 57)
And, on the weekends, she was going to under 18 dance clubs and smoking cloves, so she didn’t need no stinking school dances.
Two of them had boyfriends and both couples were not the “going to school dances” types.
So, that left me and my Preacher’s Daughter friend, who was a hard NO to prom.
In my Junior Year, I was dating a guy who was a few years older than me, but he was from my church, so it was OK with my Mom. I’m not sure if my Dad knew. And we were embarrassingly platonic. Looking back on it, I’m not sure why a guy in his early 20’s would want to date a high school girl. Honestly. But our church group was very tight knit and I was staunchly idealistic, and he was a sweet guy, so there was no hanky panky.
But why is God’s name would he want to go to my Junior Prom with me? At the time, it didn’t seem weird, but looking back at it?
Oof.
I guess we (me and my date) were just oddballs. Don’t be sad for me. I was a late bloomer and became extremely cool (for a theatre kid) in college. So, it all worked out. Eventually.
I was very excited about my Prom Dress, but this was life before the internet and I had no idea what was cool and since none of my friends were going, I had no one to talk to about dresses.
I was basically a pink wedding cake.
BTW, years later, I distressed that same dress and made myself up to be a Zombie Prom Queen for Halloween. No symbolism there.
My Dad had a Mercedes that was 10 years old, but it was still a Mercedes and I thought it would be cool if we could drive it to prom. He said No. Of course. He did, however, offer to drive us and pick us up.
That was an easy “No, thank you.”
(BTW, I don’t think he knew who I was going to prom with at the time of the “can we borrow the car” discussion) But my date’s roommate drove a Trans Am and he said we could borrow that for the night. (You can see it in the above picture, along with the back of my Dad’s car)
Super. Cool.
I felt like it was all going my way.
We went to a fancy dinner in Newport Beach but were sat at a terrible table. I was embarrassed, but we were young and awkward and didn’t complain, which is probably why they put us at that terrible table. No biggie. I knew things were going to turn around.
The Prom started at 7:00 and we arrived at the venue promptly at 7:00.
And we were the only ones there. The photographer hadn’t even set up yet. My face is getting all red just thinking about it.
So…once he finally got set up, (he was in no rush since we were THE ONLY ONES THERE) we had our pictures taken.
I’d say it took another 30 - 40 minutes for people to start showing up. My brother, who was a senior, went with the cousin of my now cool New Ro friend, my New Ro friend was there with a date (that was unexpected), and her step sister was there with a date. So, they all rolled in together, the six of them, laughing and having a great time.
Without me.
No big deal. Kind of.
We sat with them at one of those big round wedding tables that were set up all around the dance floor. It was too loud to talk, so that was a blessing, but they all immediately left the table to go dancing or whatever while my date and I held down the table.
I didn’t mention the fashion. The girls all looked amazing. Their dresses were tight, and some were shiny and they all looked expensive. They’d all had their hair and make up done and they were soooo glamorous. All of the girls. Not just my table.
I looked like a discount, knock off Italian Barbie Doll that was on sale in a bargain basement.
I didn’t even have the flair of the goth girls or the pizazz of the band girl who had a parasol. I was just…dopey.
I later learned that they’d all gone to pre-parties. This may not be a surprise to you. You may know about pre-parties and post-parties. I did not. So I was not there. I also later learned that some of them had suites right there in the hotel and some were even staying at beach houses.
We spent most of the night sitting at the table alone as my date didn’t want to dance. I’m assuming he also was feeling a little silly at that point. I think we danced the final slow dance together, but that was it.
It was time to go and we asked our table (my brother and date, my New Ro friend and date and her step sister and date) to join us for ice cream at Denny’s. So fun, right?
Sure.
They said they’d meet us there. It was late, so we called ahead and made a reservation for 8. We wanted to be sure they could accommodate all of us. (Keep in mind that this was pre-cell phones, so calling ahead took effort)
Despite everything, I still felt cool driving in that Trans Am and it was nice to be out of the ballroom and away from everyone.
We arrived at Denny’s and went in. There was a table for 8 set up in the middle of the dining room and, suddenly, I felt very obvious. With perspective, I know that when you see high school kids (or one high school kid and her adult date) in fancy dress, then it’s obviously prom, but I didn’t have that objectivity at 17. I felt like people were staring at me because I was overdressed for a night at Denny’s.
We sat down and they brought 8 waters.
And we waited. And waited. And waited….
I think we finally ordered ice cream. And ate it. At a huge empty table in the middle of the restaurant. With everyone staring at us. I don’t really remember but I do remember that they never showed up.
Never.
After our sad sack ice cream, at our enormous table, we paid the tiny bill, and as we were walking back to the Trans Am, feeling completely deflated, some car full of kids drove by yelling something about “Prom Night and we should just get a hotel room and have sex.”
I was mortified.
We got into the car and he asked if that embarrassed me.
Throw it on the pile, why don’t you?
So now, forty years later, our daughter is going to her Junior Prom. She’s going with a great group of friends. They’re meeting at one of the houses beforehand to take pictures and there will be an after party that she’s already planning to go to.
And, while I’m thrilled for her and have every expectation that she’ll have a great time, I am quietly in a cold, sweaty panic. I’m trying very hard to be breezy. I’m trying very hard to, to, to, not freak out. I’m sure she’ll have a great time. She will.
BTW, I did not go to my Senior Prom for reasons that feel obvious.
Growing up in NZ prom’s looked like too much drama. I had seen 16 Candles. Drinking age in NZ is 18, 16 with food, so our balls everyone just got drunk. Noone remembers any dramas!
White tuxedo + transition lenses + bad haircut + girl who wanted to go to Prom with someone else. Thankfully, it was the 80s and I can destroy the negatives.