They Are Literally Left Out.
Shane went to his prom with two dates, a girlfriend (who was going with someone else), a bunch of friends, a new blond-highlighted hairstyle and a tuxedo that made him look even more dashing than usual.
But Shane’s prom wasn’t great. Sure, he had fun taking pictures before the dance. Like amateur models, hundreds of students stood outside snapping photos in front of a glorious lake at sunset. The results were breathtakingly beautiful, and the kids had a blast.
The dance, however, was … just a dance. Like all school dances, a mob of kids crammed into a tiny space with no room for anyone to breathe. Given that the mask mandate was lifted for this bunch of teenagers, maybe it was a super-spreader event.
Shane stayed out of the fray and spent much of prom alone. They played exactly one slow song; Shane danced with his girlfriend. That was the end of prom’s romantic side.
The after prom party was worse. Disorganized event coordinators hadn’t counted on how much time it would take for 800 people to write their names and phone numbers on three raffle tickets … each. Shane got in line – again alone – at 11:00, and was ushered inside after midnight. He found a few friends and played some games at Dave & Buster’s – but he was ready to go home two hours later. Most students left before he did.
Dylan’s prom was held elsewhere, but his feelings were identical.
It makes me wonder why they can’t fix the inherent issue with school dances: the fact that so many kids don’t want to be smashed like sardines onto a teeny dance floor full of sweaty bodies. The kids who have it all in high school – the ones who love school dances – are all out there, whooping it up. But the rest of the kids – like my sons, and like me – tend to stand outside. They are literally left out.
Shane could have forced himself into an uncomfortable situation, and maybe he would have had more fun if he had. But why couldn’t they just extend the dance floor so that all the kids could dance without claustrophobia setting in? Why couldn’t they play more than one slow song, so kids would have a chance to talk?
Here’s what I remember from my prom: I wore a beautiful dress, which my mom made. My dad gave me a special pair of earrings to wear. I took my ex-boyfriend with me – even though we were broken up – and my best friend took a virtual stranger for the same reason.
I remember being bored to tears at prom; I do not remember dancing.
At after-prom, I remember only boredom and exhaustion – on a beautiful river cruise that lasted until sunrise. A lot of my boredom had to do with a severe lack of alcohol; even at 17, I was desperate for a drink. Unsurprisingly, alcohol was not allowed.
I remember the trip home, when my ex-boyfriend fell asleep at the wheel. The car veered off the highway into the jersey wall on the median – which woke up the driver and his passengers, who’d all fallen asleep. We stayed awake after that.
I hope Shane has fonder memories than mine, but it seems as though only those who love school dances will also love the prom. This makes sense, but I wish there were events for those of us who are outcasts, but I guess that would alter the definition of the word “outcast.”
But would that be so awful?