Memories of my own junior high dances are obscured in a haze of Drakar Noir, Aqua Net hairspray, and raging (and foul-smelling) tweenage hormones. Sadly, I don’t have any pictures from these dances to jog my memory either, but I do have my 7th grade school picture.
(This picture was taken a few months before I started performing daily experiments on the effects of aerosol spray on the ozone layer.)
I remember wearing that exact tank dress and matching earrings to one of my first dances. Just imagine me in all of my 5’7”, 100ish-pound (then, not now), no-rhythm awkwardness. I was probably mentally fusing my soul to Dave Gahan of Depeche Mode. Or sitting in the corner in a pool of tears and rejection.
My big problem was boys. I was obsessed with them from a very early age. Their actions (or inactions) consumed every thought and filled every mixtape. I devoted entire journals to praising them and then cursing them. They were (sadly) my life.
Fortunately for me and Mr. Foxy, our daughter Erin has not yet discovered the joy, heartbreak, and Axe Body Spray of the opposite sex. (Hopefully this lasts until she graduates from college.) She’s obsessing over books, not boys, and we couldn’t be happier.
As her first Junior High School dance approached, she wasn’t showing much interest in the event. Whereas boys would have lured me there like a mom to wine (oh, hey, I do that too), there was no real pull for my daughter. But I really wanted her to go so she could attend a dance just for fun and to hang out with friends—without worrying about the distraction of boys.
Me (trying to act all casual): So, are you going to the dance?
Erin (rolling her eyes): I don’t think so. Sounds kinda boring. And they won’t play any good music.
Me: I’ll buy you a new outfit…
Erin: Can I wear my Converse high-tops?
Me: Of course.
Erin: Then I’m in.
The day of the dance, I helped her flat-iron her hair and beamed with pride as she put on her outfit. Somehow I convinced her to allow me to take some pictures, but while I got my daughter’s blessing to tell this story, she absolutely forbid me from posting any of those photos. So here’s the dress she wore (which I don’t think I could love any harder):
(That model is a fairly accurate depiction of her mood sometimes.)
As we sat at the table waiting to depart for the dance, she admitted that she was indeed a little apprehensive about the event.
Erin: I’m a little nervous about the dance.
Me: What are you nervous about?
Erin: I hope I’ll have friends there. And that there will be people to hang out with. And to talk to.
Me: Well, I know some of your friends will be there. And you can start conversations with anyone; they all know you.
Erin: It’s hard, Mom. There are also going to be some kids from other schools … and I don’t even know them.
Me: More potential new friends and people to have fun with?
Erin: I don’t know…
Me: Okay, here’s my best piece of advice. Listen up because this is really important: Just don’t be a bitch.
Erin: MOTHER!
Me: What? Do you like bitches?
Erin: Well, no…
Me: Do you know anyone who likes bitches?
Erin: No…
Me: Exactly. So don’t be a bitch. And you’ll be fine.
I expect my Mother of the Year award to arrive any day now.
Photo Credit: ptimages / 123RF Stock Photo
30 Responses
I do believe I had those exact earrings except they were a hot pink. A hot mess is probably more like it. Ah yes a junior high dance. I wrote a whole trilogy about my son’s 8th grade dance. It was crazy. They did the whole formal attire thing and all.
I’m not ready for formal attire. Not even close.
I think your advice is spot on. Seriously. If more parents taught the “don’t be a bitch” or “don’t be a dick” lesson, then our future generations would be more pleasant.
RIGHT?! It’s pretty simple.
Seeing your 12 year old self was worth more than every bottle of whiskey I have in my house. And WHERE DID YOU GET THAT MARAUDERS MAP DRESS???!!!!
My 13-year-old self is A LOT worse. I’ll pull it out sometime. We bought the dress at Hot Topic. She also found a Doctor Who dress there.
There are Doctor Who dresses?! *suddenly laments never paying attention to calories*
ME TOO.
School dances are so different now than how they were when we were young. My kids are both in high school, so we’ve been through our share of middle school dances. Kids don’t dance in just couples anymore. There’s no waiting around to be asked or getting your courage up to ask someone else to dance. If you like the song you grab your friends and dance in a group. So much less pressure, though also less “opportunity” for romance. When I was young I found them so torturous that I stopped going. My kids, on the other hand, stopped going because they aren’t that much fun.
“Don’t be a bitch” is great advice and should serve her well wherever she goes. I think your award will be arriving tomorrow, possibly even today.
She didn’t end up loving the dance. Because the music was bad, and she doesn’t like talking to people. (The apple is really close to the tree truck there.) But she wasn’t a bitch. So we’re all happy.
Seriously, that dress kicks ass. Great advice too.
RIGHT?! I couldn’t have loved it more. She has really good taste.
My son went to his first Middle School dance just last week. Afterward he complained that everyone sat around on their smart phones “but I kept mine in my pocket, because this was supposed to be a social event”.
Score! I’m raising him right!
That IS a total score. They weren’t allowed phones at this dance, which is good because I don’t think I would have scored with you.
That is the best kid advice EVER. I’m totally stealing!
Thank you. And please do.
I have to repeat the comment above. I also had those earrings in pink! And I shared a lot of similarities with you at the age, except I’ve always been short. Love your daughter’s dress!
Those earrings were apparently very popular. Or we all had great taste. Just like my daughter. 😉
In eighth grade, one of our school dances fell on my birthday. Which should have been awesome.
Except I didn’t go, because not enough of my classmates’ parents had given them the “don’t be a bitch” talk and I decided I’d rather spend my birthday alone than with people who made me feel bad about myself.
So thank you, on behalf of thirteen-year-old me, for having the Nobody Likes A Bitch talk with your daughter. I wish more parents were like you.
Thank you for appreciating the effort. If we had fewer bitches (and dicks) in this world, it would be a much better place.
Absolutely perfect!! You accept that MOTY award with pride 🙂
Thank you. Thank you very much. (Said like Elvis, of course.)(
I love you, and I love that dress. I saw it online a few months ago and wanted it. Perfect.
I love YOU. I wish I could wear that dress. But, alas, too old. Okay, it just doesn’t fit.
HA!!!! That is awesome. Will you be my mom?
Your mom. Your best friend. Your drinking buddy. I’m totally flexible.
I’m pretty sure my Mom would die if I used the word bitch. Like, right now. If I said it, she would die. Its sinful.
There is a long list of things my Mom would not approve of. Saying “bitch” is not one of them. Fortunately.
My parents forced me to attend a super Evangelical Christian school where we were informed that dancing was a sin that the devil invented to lure teenagers to hell. So, when I transferred to a public school and finally got the nerve to attend the homecoming dance, I *might* have started crying a little during my first twirl on the floor. My parents didn’t believe the “no dancing” bullshit, but my former pastor/teacher sure did. To this day, I don’t really dance. Not even with my husband. At our own wedding. Like, we did the awkward arms-length-apart thing for the obligatory first dance, but that was that. I want to go to Heaven, thank you very much.
WHAT?! I promise you that you are going to Heaven. You, me, and Kevin Bacon. xoxo