The thing about having teenagers is that you get toexperience high school all over again.
A week or so ago, my oldest came home and announced that he needed money
to buy a ticket for the homecoming dance.
“Mom,” he said, “I need some money.”
“Yeah. Me too.”
“Funny. I need to buy homecoming tickets.”
“You’re going to homecoming?” I said.
He just looked at me.
“With someone?” If so, this would be the very first time. “Can I ask who?” I said, and with a pause for drama and an audible sigh, he gave me the name of the lucky young lady.
“Oh,” I said, and opened my checkbook.
A couple of days later, as I was running around like a chicken with my head cut off trying to get dinner on the table, we revisited the conversation.
“Mom, I need a shirt and tie for homecoming.”
“Don’t you already have a shirt you could wear? And Dad has lots of ties.”
I got the look again. “None of them fit and Dad only has old man ties.”
“Oh.”
“Can I have Dad take me to Kohl’s after practice?”
“Not if you want your shirt and tie to match,” I said, noting my husband’s sense of fashion. “We’ll go on Saturday after we go look at your senior pictures.”
On Thursday, two days before the big event between bites of baked potato, we began chapter 3.
“Mom, I need to get a corsage.”
“A corsage? Do you even know what a corsage is?”
“Yes. It’s a flower.”
“How do you know you need a corsage?” I quipped. As this was the first time he had attended a dance with someone, I wondered where this new found knowledge about all things homecoming was coming from.
“Mom, everyone knows you get a corsage.”
“Everyone?”
“Yes,” he said.
“Oh.”
“You get them at Safeway.”
“The grocery store? You don’t get corsages at the grocery store.”
“Yes you do. That’s where you get them.”
“And you know this how?”
“I just know. Everyone knows that’s where you get corsages.”
Everyone except me, apparently.
On Friday I wandered into the florist. “I need to buy a corsage for my date for homecoming,” I said with just the slightest bit of sarcasm. This date that I wasn’t going on was starting to cost me a fortune.
The girl behind the counter looked at me blankly.
“She’s wearing a plum/silvery sort of taffeta dress. What color would look good with that?”
The florist came out from the back room. “Ivory,” he said, not missing a beat. “I could do something with tiny ivory roses with a yellow accent. Maybe a yellow ribbon.”
“Sounds lovely,” I said.
On Saturday, between replacing the kitchen faucet and installing a new handle on the front door, we ran out to buy the new shirt and tie and preview the senior pictures. Soon it was time to get ready.
Shirt? Check.
Tie? Check.
Pants?
Pants?
“I’ll be right back,” I yelled as I ran out the door.
“Hurry,” he shrieked. “I’m going to be late.”
We pulled up to the house just a few minutes behind schedule. It was now 5:30. It was in that moment that I realized something shocking. In between the plumbing, carpentry and power shopping of the day, I had forgotten to brush my teeth and wash my face and I was about to meet the girl’s parents. “Oh well,” I thought to myself, so much for good first impressions. It had been a hell of a day and this was a big moment, a seminal moment in the life of this young man and his journey into adulthood. I would just have to buck up and deal with it.
Camera in hand, I took a few deep breaths, popped a couple of mints and tried to compose myself. I made nice with the other parents, keeping a safe distance lest my secret be revealed. After small talk, photos and a well-deserved glass of wine, I piled into the old brown sedan, found my way back onto the freeway and headed towards home. No sooner had I turned the corner than the waves began to wash over me, memories lapping up on the shore, over and over again.
And I began to cry.
It had been a long day but somehow we made it. He was dressed and ready to go and the tiny ivory rose corsage did look lovely against the plum/silvery taffeta dress. And although I’m not particularly objective, he did look awfully handsome.
You almost didn’t notice he was wearing sneakers.
