From today's Times and News-Star
It
may or may not be true that Junior Waverly took me out behind the junior high one
day and beat me senseless, and it may or may not be true that I probably had it
coming. I would never accuse Junior of making a poor decision. Not to his face.
At least not again. I’d probably said something that offended him. Like asking him
how eighth grade was the third time around.
In
Junior’s defense, he was one of the few guys at school who looked good in
overalls, never raised his hand when the teacher asked if anyone had questions,
and took off my cafeteria lunch plate only what he felt he absolutely,
positively had to have to keep from starving to death before he could get to
the convenience store at 3 o’clock, or what we called, in Junior’s honor, The
Shoplifting Hour.
Nervously,
waiting on the bell: “What time is it?”
“Five
til Shoplifting.”
Like
that. The closer the bell got to 3, the more Junior acted like a wino hanging
around waiting on the liquor store to open.
What
I’m saying is, we all get taken now and then, either out behind the school
house, out behind the barn, or to the cleaners. That last one is the subject of
today’s meaningful, timely essay.
There
is something going on today that is needlessly taking money from the pockets of
hard-working parents, and that “something” is called “The Prom.” I’m not talking
about your daddy’s prom: suit, dance, home. Today it is an Event, as if the
implications alone of it being a Junior-Senior Prom don’t make it special
enough.
The
average cost of going to the prom in Louisiana, Oklahoma, Texas and Arkansas is
$1,203 per couple, says a Visa-based survey. This shocked me: are children
getting shot into space as part of their prom? Are we paying them $200 an hour
to get out of the house for a night? Are tattoos that expensive?
Some
parent with way too much time got the ball rolling and no one stood up to say, “Wait.
Are you – what’s the right word? – insane?” Because in my parts, the teens
dress in clothes they’ll never wear again, have their photos made together and
in groups, de-dress into casual wear, go to eat (at a restaurant out of town, sometimes
in a limo), come back, re-dress, go to the dance for maybe an hour, go to
someone’s house, back to casual clothes, watch movies and eat pancakes and
bacon.
Anything
in which bacon is involved deserves better. This is pregame, game and postgame
taken to the cha-ching extreme. Homecoming is much the same, so don’t get me
started. (The dance is not even the same day as the football game anymore.)
It
is too late for me. My ship has sailed, though I can proudly say I got out for
less than the average bear. If you are a parent of a child who has a prom in
his or her future, either start saving now or put your foot down. Or plan not
to eat for a couple of months.
It
cost my son a necktie, supper and some flowers to go to the prom. I will always
have a sentimental weakness toward him for that.
Capital
outlay was a bit more for my precious step-human, but not much. Since she is of
the female variety, she was not responsible for food. But she was responsible
for wearing a dress. You might not know this, but prom dresses can cost as much
as a four-cylinder.
“I
will give you fifty bucks, cash, if you borrow a dress,” I told her a month
ago. She lit up like Times Square on New Year’s Eve. “Cash,” I said again.
She
borrowed a dress, her mom hemmed it, and we sent the dress borrowee a gift along
with a tears-of-joy-stained thank-you note since we had saved what amounted to
a house payment. Something borrowed, no one’s blue.
There
is no shame in a borrowed dress; my prom-bound female teen put on hers and
looked like Rita Hayworth before the big dance number in “Affair in Trinidad.” I
handed her two 20s and a 10 and asked her to get me Glenn Ford’s autograph. She
didn’t know what that meant but it didn’t matter; she still went into the night
wiser, richer, and well-dressed. The Prom Trifecta. Best 50 bucks I’ve ever
spent.
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