In order to go to the Junior Prom I had to call in a favor. I hadn’t been asked, but I was a junior and I wanted to go to my prom so I called a friend of mine who went to another high school and asked him if he’d go with me.
Our families had been friends for a long time and he was like a brother to me. We had camped together, gotten left behind by our parents at Disneyland together, run away from a charging moose in the woods together and been forced by our mothers to wear matching outfits and sing together.
We were close, baby, and I knew he would be willing to let me hang on his arm for one night even though I was wearing head to toe teal lace.
It doesn’t seem like it was that long ago that I sprayed my ginormous hair into place and applied lid-to-brow eyeshadow the same color as my dress. But as I helped my daughter put on her lovely lime green formal on Saturday night, I knew most definitely that a lot of time has gone by.
It was a milestone – my oldest daughter’s first date. I was stunned it was already here.
Like me, she did go to prom with a good friend, but that is about all that is similar about our prom experiences.
She actually got asked. I didn’t.
I spent all day getting ready. She spent not even an hour.
I had special high heel pumps dyed the color of my dress. I had to talk her out of wearing a pair of Converse.
My dad insisted that I “wipe some of that da** war paint off” before he’d let me go out in public. I insisted that my daughter put on at least a little lip gloss.
As it turns out, less is more. She looked beautiful.
Yes, we’re different, my daughter and I.
But as she walked out into the night all excited and sparkly, I realized that we did have something in common – at the end of the night we would both feel a lot older.