As preparations were made for my granddaughter Heather's prom this Spring, I couldn't help recalling a similar occasion fifty years ago. In the all-girl Catholic school I attended, the grand event was called, "The Graduation Dance".
The panicky feeling began to build right after Christmas holidays. The girls were looking forward, with varying degrees of anticipation and anxiety, to the dance. Everyone was expected to attend. However, for many of us there was a formidable challenge to be overcome first: we had to find and invite a suitable escort.
A few of the girls already had boyfriends. Those with brothers could always ask one of his pals, or if all else failed, the sibling might be threatened or bribed to go himself. Some girls traded brothers or male cousins for the evening. Unfortunately, my friend Frances and I were socially challenged: we had only one younger sister apiece.
We had attended all-girl schools since first grade and teenage boys were scarce in our social circle. If one approached me on the street, I'd cross to the other side after a rapid internal debate. "Should I speak? What if I spoke and he didn't answer? What if he did? What could I say next?" I'd invariably decide it was easier to avoid the whole problem. However this was a situation I couldn't escape. I had to find an escort, or be considered a social outcast forever.
First, I invited the boy who delivered groceries. He said, "That's the day my grandfather died. I always visit the cemetery. Sorry." In the evening? In the dark? At least he deserved an A for originality.
Next, I called the older brother of my sister's friend. When he finally figured out who I was and what I wanted, there was a long moment of silence. Then he squawked abruptly: "I think my mother's calling me," and dropped the receiver. He returned shortly to say that he was very sorry, but he had a previous engagement. I could hear the relief in his voice; his mother had saved his neck.
My mother was doing her best to help. She methodically canvassed her friends with sons of an appropriate age, but she had no luck. Things were getting desperate! I began to wonder, "If a person decided to enter the convent, could she go right away, before June 5th.?"
Mother, never one to concede defeat, was considering importing a cousin from up north. He was younger, but tall for his age. If I could convince him to keep quiet about our kinship, he might even pass for a real boyfriend!
Suddenly, the phone rang. Frances' mother had had a nibble! There was one problem: the boy wanted to bring a pal. Would I go with his friend? Was she kidding? Good-bye convent, hello dance!
The preparations began in earnest. Long gowns, matching shoes, gloves, and evening bags were purchased. The good Sisters had warned us repeatedly not to wear strapless evening gowns, in fashion that season, but they failed to tell us why. Our curiosity was thoroughly aroused and some of the more daring among us might have tried, but we knew we'd never get away with it! Someone would squeal.
We practiced for hours, dancing in high heels to the music of the record player. It would be most unladylike to fall flat on one's face in the middle of the dance floor!
After 50 years, I can't remember much about the dance but I do remember the boy. His name was Gerry, and he was as wary of me as I was of him. I spent the evening trying to make him feel more at ease. If he panicked and made a break for the door in the middle of the evening, it would have been more embarrassing than not having gone at all!
Fortunately, circumstances have improved during the past half-century. Heather, who has always been in a coed situation in school, is perfectly comfortable with friends of both sexes. She went to her prom with a group of girlfriends. There was no anxiety, no pressure, just an evening of elegance and fun shared with peers.
To all the graduates of 2007, enjoy the prom, the last hurrah of your secondary school career. You should smile with satisfaction and confidence as you doze off after the big evening. You will soon realize that nothing lasts forever and tomorrow will be a big day too. It will be the first day of the rest of your life
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