I Remember How Happy He Was To See Me.
I can’t help it.
When it’s time for Homecoming at the kids’ school, I always flash back to my own Homecoming dance. Apparently, I only went to one dance in four years, because I only remember one night.
But it was a doozie for those involved.
For starters, I didn’t like my date. I had no interest in going with Big Tim to a dance, or anywhere, but he asked me and I had no idea that it was even an option for me to say “no thank you.” If someone asked me out, I thought, I’d better go – lest I never get asked out again.
So I said I would go.
Then I got all dressed up, as was socially required at the time, even though getting “dressed up” was – and still is – my least favorite thing to do.
Then my dad drove me to the dance. I remember this part well, because I had lots and lots of time to talk to my dad that evening.
I assumed Big Tim would be meeting me outside, and we would go in together. But he wasn’t outside. There were people outside, though, so I waited for my date to show up.
I don’t think I ever got out of the car. I just waited and waited and waited. My dad and I sat in the parking lot and waited.
Looking back, I probably didn’t want to go. Because when Big Tim finally came outside and looked around for me, I wasn’t relieved. In fact, I wasn’t even remotely happy that he’d been inside waiting for me for all that time. I just got out of the car and walked into the dance.
Or at least, that’s how I remember it. I am getting pretty old, so maybe my memories are playing tricks on me.
Maybe I let Big Tim stand there. Perhaps I told my dad to forget it, and asked him to drive me home.
But probably I went in, because I remember talking to Big Tim. I remember his face so clearly, bright and empty without the red baseball cap that he wore every day to school. He was standing there in a dark suit with his hair slicked back, greasy and untouchable, smiling like it was Christmas morning.
I remember how happy he was to see me. I kinda even remember slow dancing with him. So I guess I went into the dance.
Looking back, it was rather a nightmare evening for me – but maybe not for Big Tim. I hope he had a good time at the dance, and that he remembers it fondly.
Because now I have boys, and I know how hard it is for them to go to a dance, even just to hang out with friends. I know it’s even harder for them to ask a girl to go to a dance. And I know that dancing – even though my boys are great dancers – is never an option for them. Socially, it’s just too much.
So I am glad I went to my one Homecoming dance. And I sure hope Shane has a good time tomorrow night.