Let The Universal Theme Be: To Thine Own Self Be True

The other day I heard a group of women talk about their daughters, and prom night.

The dates are lined up, dresses selected, dieting begun. There was much indecision about shoes: something dressy, yet comfortable for dancing.

There was concern about where the kids would have dinner and how far they would drive.

One mother remained silent. Finally, she admitted that her daughter did not have a date.

“Oh, you poor thing,” the other mothers sympathized. They told her not to worry, her daughter is darling. She’ll have a date.

Prom season is here. As the media bring us stories of the latest, most lavish ways to celebrate this mother of all dates, it is easy to forget the large numbers of teens who spend prom night alone.

Store windows are full of big, glossy dresses, but where are the gray sweatsuit ensembles, just right for an evening of nacho-making and MTV? There are as many yards of fleece worn on Saturday nights in May as there are of taffeta. Yet, as the consoling comments I overheard betrayed, there is, somehow, shame in not having a prom date.

Quick, while no one is looking, I’ll admit it. I did not go to my prom. Instead I spent the evening playing dolls with a 7-year-old.

I remember trying to work myself into an appropriate depression over the situation, then being perplexed as to why I never felt too upset.

The girl, for whom I’d been baby-sitting for years, figured it out for me. As she snapped Barbie into a cunning, strapless concoction and squished Ken into his tuxedo, she asked questions with answers she already knew.

“You don’t like fancy dresses, do you, Mary?”

“Actually, it’s the pantyhose I could live without,” I told her. “But yes, that’s right. I don’t.”

“And you don’t like big parties with lots of people?”

“It’s not the people,” I tried to explain, “it’s the lack of space.”

“Then you won’t have fun at Barbie’s Birthday Ball.”

As she swooped Ken and Barbie into an airborne waltz through her living room, I realized she was right. It was not my kind of party. But realizing that for myself never stopped others from expressing their sympathy for me, even into adulthood.

Last year, I attended a seminar held in a high school near Portland, Ore. As I stood in line for a boxed lunch, my colleague, a woman also in her 30s, smiled at the posters advertising the school’s upcoming prom.

“Isn’t it exciting?” she said to me. “Didn’t you think prom night was the greatest night?”

“I didn’t go to mine.”

“No!” she gasped. “You must have. You don’t look like the type to miss your prom!”

I’m still not sure what she meant by that - and I’m probably better off not knowing.

“I did,” is all I said.

“I am so sorry.”

“I got over it,” I reassured her.

As we sat at a table, she explained that she and her date got married shortly after the prom. They went to college together, and had a handful of children.

She sighed: “Prom night was the best night we ever had together.”

The sadness of her comment sat stale between us like the bread on our chicken sandwiches. With all that happened to her afterward, prom night was the best it got? What were her expectations of the post-prom world?

I think that’s the problem with proms, and the reason young people and their parents feel such pressure. The expectations are huge; real life can’t live up to them.

Ken asks Barbie to the dance because, well, people expect them to go together. Really, Ken’s been eyeing Skipper all year, and, truth be known, Barbie’s dream date is GI Joe.

No matter. Ken and Barbie go. They get into clothes that are less than comfortable and prepare to make this date last longer than any in their pasts or futures. How can such an evening not live up to their wildest expectations?

This is not to say that proms are evil and should be stopped before it’s too late. Whether one attends or not, prom night will be pleasant for some, unpleasant for others. The trick is in recognizing that it is a big party, not a life-altering event.

It is not the beginning of a future spent in a tuxedo looking down from the roof of the Ridpath, nor is it the start of a cloistered existence.

The best parts of real life happen at eye level, among people, and usually when you’re wearing your sweats.

xxxx

The following fields overflowed: CREDIT = Mary Douthitt, Contributing writer