A retelling of high school angst about this one date is always a springtime diversion from the loftier problems of war and peace. When we went to the prom, the idea of our parents renting us students hotel rooms or of us even staying out all night was something that we couldn't even begin to comprehend. Times have changed, I guess.
Memories of my high school prom seem almost laughable today, but they were serious then. A date to the prom probably was the most formally attired dinner and dance I'd ever ask a girl to share, and it needed to be special.
My steady girlfriend had just broken off our romance, so the list of other women I thought might go out with me was a short one. The girl who sat in front of me during social studies always did laugh at my jokes though....
"Uhhh, Linda?" I asked one day when the teacher was distracted on the other side of the room, "Have you got a date to the prom yet?"
"No, not yet."
"Well," I continued, "may I have the honor of escorting you to the gala affair?" (While I thought I was being suave, I look back at it now as prime nerd behavior).
Once I had my date lined up, there were a multitude of other tasks to be completed before the big date. I'd need to rent a tux, order flowers, make restaurant reservations and trade my mom a month's worth of Saturday labor for the use of her new car.
When I walked into the local tuxedo rental shop, I was greeted by a balding, 50ish, little ol' man.
"Hello, howcanIhelpyou? Wannarentanicetux?" he asked.
"Ahhh, yeah," I finally blurted, like there could be something else I was in his shop for.
"You goin' ta da prom up at the high school?"
"Yeah."
"Look around, that rack over there's got all the rentals on it. Take your time. We'll fix ya up real nice."
My date hadn't given me any instructions that my tux had to complement her gown, so the choice was up to me. While the shop manager fussed with a mannequin, I looked through the rack and decided I didn't want just a plain white jacket and black trouser combination. (Remember, this was the 1960s). They had some iridescent coats that caught my eye, and I picked out an electric-blue model that would have done any Motown singing group proud. I look back at my attire today and wonder: What was going through my mind?
When the day itself finally arrived, I showered, needlessly shaved and doused myself with cologne 'til I reeked. I kept thinking of the ceremonial dressing of a matador before he met the horns of the bull.
My father looked at his 17-year-old kid dressed in an incandescent jacket and shook his head. He offered just two bits of advice: "Remember, that car's no play toy," and, "Don't order Roquefort salad dressing."
"Why?"
"Garlic-breath," he explained. We shook hands, and I started off on my date.
Linda looked great in her lovely new formal gown. After I had presented her with the flowers, I heard her father tell her mother as she helped Linda pin the corsage on: "You'd better pin that deep, something's gotta hold that dress up."
After we'd gone through the mandatory round of snapshots for the relatives, I finally got Linda into mom's Plymouth and we headed toward the fanciest restaurant in town. I remembered the salad-dressing warning, but you can't just act as if nothing unusual is happening when you're wearing clothes that glow.
"Gary," Linda asked after dinner as I drove on toward the dance, "back at the house - when you were waiting for me to come down - did my father show you his gun?"
"Uhh, no," I replied. Why did she ask me that?
"Good, he usually shows it to all my dates and he seemed to be looking at you a little strangely."[[In-content Ad]]