My Innocent Prom

My parents grew up, married and raised their children in Brooklyn, NY. They lived three blocks away from my mom’s parents and in the same apartment building as my dad’s parents.

Back then, city living was enjoyable and cheap. Good thing, too because my dad’s job was never steady.

As early as the birth of my older brother, mom quickly learned to sew clothes. Yes, mom was a whiz with her foot-peddled Singer, and I might add, our clothes were always tastefully crafted.

I entered my teenage years in 1960, the same year I entered the eighth grade in our local parochial school, St. Cecilia’s.

For as long as I can remember, St. Cecilia’s always held an eighth grade “graduation” prom. Unfortunately, for those who graduated before 1964, our proms were completely different from the ones held in today’s society.

For decades, the principal of our elementary school held a contract with a dance instructor. Each January, the instructor, Miss Quinn would be given one hour each day with the graduating class. She’d line us up according to height, girls in one row and the boys in the second matching us with partners of similar height.

It didn’t matter if you had a crush on a boy or not. You danced with whomever you were assigned to.

My friends and a few of the boys knew I had a heart-throbbing crush on a boy name Steven. At each dancing lesson, when our instructor turned her back, they quietly and quickly would rearrange themselves so that I would stand next to Steven. Not realizing what we did, our instructor marked the names in her book and Steven became my partner.

I blushed at every dance lesson but at the same time, I beamed. I was dancing with Steven. I did at least, until our instructor noticed that Steven was much taller than some of the other boys and rearranged us, once again.

My now, set-in-stone prom partner was Eddie, and, in a way, that was a good thing.

You might be wondering why a group of teenagers needed someone to teach them to dance. Our principal didn’t think that rock and roll and the type of dancing those songs suggested were good enough for her school’s “Eighth Grade Prom.” “Too wild and too suggestive”, she would say. Our instructor was hired to teach us the fox trot, waltz, cha-cha, and a few other dances I can no longer recall.

While the students were more or less bored with these lessons, our parents, who would attend the prom with their children, (yes, parents were obligated to attend), were overjoyed. They hoped their children might develop some kind of appreciation for their kind of music. They at least hoped so.

My parents were so proud as they watched me walk into the gymnasium, arm in arm with Eddie. I wore the beautiful pink sateen and chiffon dress my mom made just this occasion. The dress had a sateen under-slip and chiffon overlay with a sateen sash and wide billowing neckline. Unfortunately, mom designed the under-slip strapless. Finding a strapless bra for a skinny thirteen-year-old was almost impossible. Actually, it was impossible. Mom had to purchase the smallest bra she could find and pin it to the dress so it wouldn’t fall.

As soon as all the would-be graduates entered the hall, Miss Quinn placed the needle on the record and a waltz began to play.

Eddie was a great dancer, and our rhythm was excellent. While I was having a fun time, deep inside I still secretly wished our instructor hadn’t changed my partner. Eddie knew this since he was part of the childish conspiracy to pair me with Steven.

Every now and then, Eddie managed to dance us to where Steven and his partner were and politely encouraged a change of partners – at least for a few dances.

As our night progressed, Eddie proved to be more fun than I first anticipated. We talked easily and laughed with enthusiasm.

Of course, as typical teenagers, we also imitated our instructor who seemed too rigid as she walked and danced. If we didn’t know better, we would think her spine had been starched instead of the black dress she always wore.

The more Eddie imitated her, the more I laughed – until suddenly, I almost screeched, “Eddie, excuse me. I have to use the ladies’ room.” “Uh, didn’t you just go during our break not more than ten minutes ago?” he asked confused. I didn’t take the time to answer but ran to my mom first.

The pins my mom used to fasten the bra to my dress burst open during my bursts of laughter and the bra slid down to my waist.

Walking back to where Eddie stood waiting, I said, “You made me laugh a bit too hard and well, what can I say?” I left it there making him wonder if I had to “go” that badly at something he thought was mildly amusing.

Then we were treated to a slow lindy. Eddie held on so tightly, the back zipper began to rip. Realizing this, he walked me over to my mom and smilingly, said, “Uh, Mrs. H. do you have any more pins?”

Back in the ladies’ room, mom fixed the zipper and by the time I got back to Eddie, I heard the beginning of a cha-cha. Eddie smiled and asked if everything was all right. We laughed at my dilemma and started, once again, to dance.

We finished our prom and I finally confessed, as we walked in the directions of our apartments, why I hurriedly ran to the ladies’ room, mom in tow. He admitted he had a feeling I had a mishap with my dress, “which by the way, is very pretty” he said.

That night, I realized having Eddie as my partner made my apparel problem laughable. If my partner had been Steven, my embarrassment, more than likely would have driven my thirteen-year old innocence to tears. I would have been mortified.

I look at today’s society and how proms have changed. Innocence is gone. Modest dresses fell to the wayside to make room for the more elaborate sexy gowns, the kind we kids only saw in the movies.

Yep, I guess it’s true! Proms are certainly not what they used to be.

I’m still wondering if that’s a good thing or not. Looking back, as innocent as we were, we still had fun and knew how to laugh at each other and ourselves.