PROM NIGHT REGRETS

My son is going to the prom. Unfortunately, I will be in the field with my National Guard unit and will miss the festivities, though I am sure he’ll be quite handsome in a tux, and he and his date will make quite a couple. But, this night caused me to reminisce and think of one of my greatest regrets.

Quite a few years ago, when I was younger, I was always worried about what others thought of me. It bothered me deeply when others made negative comments about me, or thought poorly of me, for whatever reason. It’s no great revelation. At eighteen many of us are worried about our social status and stature. We look around and see those more popular and wish we were as popular as the others, or at least more popular than we are.

And we act based on these perceptions, whether we act rightly or wrongly.

In high school, I was the odd one. Subliminally, I’m sure I was proud of it. But on the surface and a bit deeper, I wanted to not be the odd one. I wanted to be ‘popular.’ I played sports, but was never a part of the ‘in’ crowd. I was shy, naïve, and a bit on the clumsy side. I tried a little too hard and was really nervous around girls.

I did date, and I had quite a few girl friends, if not girlfriends. I went out with an older girl to the Junior-Senior Prom when I was a freshman. That was cool, but she wasn’t ‘in.’ I was harassed about it and felt bad, despite the fact that those doing the harassing were likely at home that night.

So, by the time I was a Senior, football letterman, big-man-on-campus I was a little more confident, but still conscious that I wasn’t THE big man on campus. Teenage angst really does suck. Naivete’ does too.

Amongst all my angst and worry, cruel people lived all ‘round me. I was aware of this. I was forced to deal with some of these people quite often on a daily basis. You know the types – they’re the fodder of many teen movies. Throw in the homely but naïve victim, and you’ve got the plotline of Carrie. And in the case of this true tale, the victim was Darla (not her real name).

Darla was a proud young lady. Three years behind me in school (I was a Senior, she a Freshman), she was a talented member of the band and a devoted Christian. And she was a homely girl – there was no two ways about it. Additionally, like me, she tried to be a member of the ‘in’ crowd, but her looks and fashion kept her from it. So, it was with great excitement that she accepted an invitation from an older boy to attend the Prom late in my senior year.

Her parents bought her a prom dress. When the boy explained he couldn’t get the money for a tux or a corsage, mom and dad bought the arrangement. He explained that he would wear a suit, the same he wore to church. The day of the prom, he explained that his car had broken down. He explained that he had arranged for a get a ride and would meet her there at the arena where all the county’s proms were held. He apologized that he couldn’t pick her up. She said she understood. She was excited and quite happy.

Darla’s parents dropped her out front of the county-owned facility. It was the largest venue in the county, and may still be today. She waited patiently for her date, but the whole arrangement was a charade. It was one big joke on Darla, and all for this boy’s and his friends’ amusement. I don’t know how long it took her to realize the cruel joke of which she was the butt. Still, Darla went inside, sat down at a table next to the dance floor and sat there all night, with great dignity and stoicism. The word soon spread of the great prank that was pulled on her that night. Darla never flinched at her seat and I never saw a tear.

And to this day, I’m ashamed of what I did that night.

I did nothing.

My son will attend a prom this year with his girlfriend – if they don’t break up for some reason between now and then. I know that if it was he in my place all those years ago that he would have done the right thing. He has always done the right thing – even if it was wrong. That is another story, though, one I’ll relate some other time.

I wish I had the guts then to gather all my friends together and gone to Darla. We all needed to ask her to dance, and to get her a cup of punch, and to talk to her. But, instead, I looked on her with pity, and enjoyed my night and time with my date. I had fun. Darla was miserable.

I’m sorry Darla.