Prom, Part I: Then and Now

katemn's Journal

Prom, Part I: Then and Now
Apr 29, 2008 at 12:35 AM
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- katemn
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I got the lucky job of Junior Sponsor this year and we just finished Prom week--planning, decorating, the event. This and the journal post following are the result.

I went to prom twice: once as a sophomore, because my boyfriend was a senior, and once as a senior. I didn’t go junior year because I didn’t have a boyfriend (ask me about my horrible date with Black Turtleneck Boy sometime) and besides, I had a friend that didn’t have a date and we decided to just go to the first-ever all night after-prom party at which I won the car. But I digress. My high school (about 2000 kids) has a tradition of having the prom at a downtown hotel in one of the ballrooms. Decorations were kept to a minimum and the whole thing really did have the air of a grownup affair, like it should. At the school where I teach, prom takes places in the gym. We make black plastic walls and order cardboard dreams out of a catalog and voila, prom. At my first high school prom, I had no idea what I was doing and wasn’t that sophisticated as to how to dress or do my hair. I had a royal blue taffeta dress with a tea-length skirt and off the shoulder elastic thingys which I wore ON my shoulders. I did my own hair and still feel a twinge of embarassment at the goofy way it turned out. My boyfriend spent most of the time catering to his jealous friends and not really on me. I remember a lot of bubble skirts and the glittering lights of the chandelier, and not much else. My second prom, senior year, I was dating the class clown, and I was much more opinionated, and slightly more sophisticated, about what I wanted to wear. I wanted to wear a dress right out of a costume book circa 1912. It was a loose sheath with a plunging neckline and three straps on either side, covered in beadwork on the front and with a little train. My mom sewed the dress and I stitched the beads on. It was white and I did my hair loosely with baby’s breath, and my date wore a white tux with baby blue cummerbund and tie. We didn’t look like anyone else there, as I’m sure you can imagine. I remember having a blast because we were a couple and I didn’t care what anyone else thought. At my school, the girls spent days and weeks discussing their dresses, hair, nails (toes and hands), their dates’ tuxes, and all the rest of it. Last Monday most of the girls came in with their manicures already done—long fake nails covered in hand-painted designs in purple, red and black, which of course ended up matching their dresses perfectly. Almost all the girls had had their hair professionally done, and their toes pedicured also, the French style predominating (for any Men reading, that’s clear polish with a solid white tip—now you know). An abundance of undergarments specially designed to “hide” peeped out from under backless, strapless, or low cut dresses. All this preparation was drawn out not just over the day of prom but days before, also.As pretty as a flower garden as the girls were, I was much more interested in the guys’ looks. My only experience with Men in Tuxes, is, well, men in tuxes--rented, of course. At my school, a large population of recent Mexican immigrants exists, and Mexican traditional is perfectly acceptable prom attire. It consists of cowboy-style jeans (read: tight) with silver buckles or shiny belts, very long pointy boots (no shit-kickers these, the boots at prom were just-out-of-the-box pristine) in blue, orange, or red, black shirts with bolo ties, and a huge straw “taco” style cowboy hat—the brim folded up on the sides. A few of the guys dressed in what can be termed gangster style with huge pocket handkerchiefs and fedoras, one even wore shades. Most of the rest of the guys (the white guys) wore tuxes or suits. Prom started off with a Grande Promenade. At 7:30, the gym risers groaned with the weight of parents, teachers, siblings, and community members, there to watch the procession and take pictures. A fellow sponsor announced the couples, who walked in from either side, met on the red carpet, walked around the lily pond and posed for the spectators. In a girl’s life, there is only one other event like it, and that is the walk down the wedding aisle. I helped pass out roses to the gentlmen to give to their ladies, and pinned quite a few boutonniers on—if I saw a guy standing around with a little flower in his hand, I’d run up and pin it. At the end of the procession, we crowned the Prom King and Queen, who then danced together. The next milestone is catching the bouquet or garter, and after that it’s the first dance as a married couple. I love the progression of these life events.When that was all done and the couples had posed in front of the cardboard archway for their prom photos, the dance got underway. The kids really looked like they were having fun. My husband remarked to me how impressed he was that they all danced in a group, not scattered groups around. My hubby was there? Yes, I forgot to mention that. I got him to go by twisting his arm way up around his back and giving him a massive wedgie, but he had a lot more fun than he thought he would by talking to a teacher he used to work with who is now working at my school, and by taking me onto the dance floor whenever the deejay played a slow song. (A free piece of advice for married couples: if your sex life has taken a back seat to kids and work and dishes, go to prom, works wonders.) Anyway, we sat together holding hands under the light of a cardboard lamppost and watched the kids dance to all the latest favorites—and I mean, they danced, ALL NIGHT. They even ALL did the Chicken Dance and the Electric Slide and the Macarena, which again impressed Daniel to no end. I had fun just watching the kids. I wanted to go join in, but it was their prom, not mine. The memories I have are the memories I have, and the ones I didn’t get, are just well, water under a very old bridge. Sayonara.

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