The Prom

She was staring at the camera, lips pouting, hand on her hip, showing enough cleavage to make me certain that her dad did not approve of her dress.

Her lipstick was darker in the next photo.  She had to have wrenched her neck when throwing her head back the way she did.  Her hair was so lacquered, it couldn’t have moved if it wanted to.

She’s not engaged with her date in any of the pics.  He looks like a prop for her display.  Does he want to be there?  Does he know he’s a tool?  Will they even text each other after tonight?

One comment said the dress was $500.  Another comment talked about where to get the best spray-on tan in town.  Others talked about where to find the time to do eyebrows, nails, hair and tanning, all in time for the big night.

 

It’s prom night on Facebook.

 

As I scroll through the photos, I can feel my blood beginning to boil.  I sense a serious case of judging coming on.

Under her breath, Jen says, “Who wants to spend that kind of money to awkwardly dance for 45 minutes in a gym that smells like feet?”

Of course, that’s coming from an introverted homeschool kid.  Prom isn’t even on her radar.

Hasn’t prom outlived it’s usefulness by now?  Was prom ever useful?

 

(My feminist side types faster and gets snarkier.)

 

My mind races with a million objections.  What about the kids who can’t afford the prom?  What about the kids who can afford it and never get asked?  What about this whole #metoo thing and not wanting to be treated like objects?  Isn’t this just the kind of thing that puts a bigger divide between the haves and the have nots?

I feel the need to yell.

 

Then …

I scroll further and see a set of photos that make me grin.

The gal and the guy are hamming it up for the camera – together.  They take turns being the center.  They engage with each other.  They are laughing and teasing and comfortable with each other.  They both want to be there.  I know that they will text each other long after this silly night – a night that was a tradition for their folks, and will be a tradition for their kids, too.

 

The dust I kicked up about the prom (really, Jesse?) begins to settle.

 

I start to see that my issues with the prom have less to do with young women dressing inappropriately, and more to do with distraction and forgetting which battles need picking.

 

The prom is a metaphor for life, with much nicer clothes.

There are the ones who make it all about them.  There will always be the excesses.  There will be the ones who are happy not participating, and thriving in the shadows.  There will be the ones who have fun, enjoy each other, and don’t take it too seriously.  And there will always be those who try to make a mountain out of a molehill.