The Prom

At our high school one of the rites of passage into maturity was attending the Prom. This springtime dance was sponsored by the Junior Class and attended by both classes of the eleventh and twelfth grade. Its original purpose was to honor the Senior Class and say goodbye. By the time I was old enough to participate, its purpose had been smothered in the changes taking over our culture of the mid-sixties. It now had become a fashion show and an excuse to stay out most of the night going to endless parties.

Unless you lived in my house. Being the oldest child rarely had its advantages and this certainly was one of those times. My parents were 20 years older than me, but sometimes it seemed as if they were much older. They had been raised in the depression and were in high school during World War II so it was not possible for them to grasp my need to spend $50 on a tuxedo rental that was the premier fashion statement of the day for young men. My Mom had actually ridden a horse to her Prom so accoutrements were going to be at a minimum for this buckaroo. At a young age I had seized on the idea of a perfect appearance, hair, clothes, cologne, and shoes. It was important to me to look like I had a plan, when I left the house. Unfortunately, my folks who didn’t mind that I looked nice, were not going to finance my foray into sartorial splendor. At the beginning of the school year, I was given two pairs of shoes, Sunday good shoes and everyday other shoes. I didn’t mention to them that there was such a thing as rental dress shoes. They simply would not get the necessity. So here I was at the crossroads of want and need. My parents would supply the need I would have to finance the want.

My job at the local Pizza King paid $1.10 an hour and I could work as much as I wanted however it was spring and I was on the high school track team that required after school practices and meets. While, pondering my appearance dilemma, another monetary requirement dropped into this budgetary crisis. I was expected to purchase a corsage and it had to match her dress. When casually bringing up my latest challenge at the supper table one evening, my Dad issued his proclamation on my growing affordability concerns. “We will cover the cost of a Suit Jacket and you can wear a pair of your good slacks and make use of your Sunday shoes.” Are you kidding me? I didn’t want to look regular, I wanted to look cool! I looked at my Mom, who was generally my backup, to get what I wanted. She just smiled and gave me some more mashed potatoes. I was sunk. My chances of obtaining cool were slim and none and slim just left town.

Most of my buddies were suffering the same kind of misunderstandings with their parents. No one seemed to understand. Just because the Depression was in the rearview mirror didn’t mean the old habits of fiscal restraint were disappearing any time soon. It was time to take stock of my assets. Six bucks in my savings account, my brother owed me one dollar, and I had a paycheck coming for $15. It was time to have a serious discussion with my girlfriend as to our circumstance. She was sympathetic and assured me that she would go with me no matter what I looked like. Then, as an afterthought, she reminded me that my jacket needed to match her outfit.

As was the fashion of the day, most guys did not want to be the first guy at the Tuxedo shop and also did not want to be caught dead with their parents helping them pick out their evening wear. It was ok if they footed the bill, but way below cool if they got to insert their opinion. As it turned out, most of the guys showed up on a Saturday three weeks before the dance, at the same time. Through the chaos I was able to reserve a medium cool dark maroon jacket that would go with my Sunday black pants and shoes. While I was there, I realized that I was in the same boat as my buddies. As my Grandpa used to say “all hat and no cattle.” Big dreams and little money.

The Prom was a wonderful experience and most of the suit jackets came off after the first two or three dances anyway. My girlfriend said I looked splendid, which was not as good as cool but not far away. The memories made that night have lasted a lifetime, when each one of my four sons came to me with the need to be cool for Prom, I sat them down and recounted my first Prom story. Then I handed them my charge card. I always was a soft touch when it came to wanting to be cool.