So, tonight was Trey’s final opportunity to attend an Evans MS dance. It was the annual 8th grade dance, their genius alternative to hosting some sort of graduation ceremony. More fun for the kids and WAY more fun for the adults.
I have tried for the past 3 years to get Trey to attend one of these social functions. He has never expressed any interest or desire, even if we got a bunch of friends together just to “go and hang out.” Alas, I had to resign myself that my boy, as he said, “just wasn’t into that kind of stuff.”
So you can imagine my surprise – and delight – when he actually agreed to attend the 8th grade dance. A little concerned, because he didn’t have a date, he was admittedly hesitant at first. But when I reminded him that this wasn’t *that* kind of dance, he was all in. And, he voluntarily let me pick the dress code. Double score!
I dressed him up in his finest. A freshly laundered, crisply pressed button-down shirt. A smart, true necktie. We’re way beyond clip-ons now. Stylish dress pants. Leather black belt with gold belt buckle. Black dress socks. Shiny black dress shoes. Neatly combed hair. He was one handsome dude. Yep, this stud is *my* son.
First, we have the “Mom, do we have to do this?” pose.
Then, we graduate to the “It’s okay, as long as I can look cool” pose.
Then, to humor him, we do the Sears Catalog pose, though I’m 100% sure he has no earthly idea what that means, just that his mother is old. And a little bit crazy.
And then we have the GQ pose. I’m pretty sure he has no idea what that means, either, but at least it’s a little more culturally relevant.
And to finish off the photo shoot, we have the “MOM! Can we be done NOW?!?! Please!!” pose. Someday, I’ll use this to my advantage, I just know it.
With a small puff of my chest and a quick self-pat on the back, we hopped in our horsepower-drawn carriage to get my Man-derella to his ball.
I cheerfully dropped him off curbside, with the requisite 2-L drink and store-bought tub of cookies in hand. As he walked away, I smiled to myself and thought, Man, I done good. He will be a real hit at the dance tonight.
I had barely pulled out of the parking lot when the first text came in:
I am the only one here dressed like this.
And a couple minutes later, this one:
The invitation said casual.
And, shortly thereafter, a picture message, as if I hadn’t yet gotten the point. Because, after all, I am an adult who doesn’t know anything:
This is what everyone else is wearing.
The picture showed a bunch of his classmates, dressed in jeans, shorts, t-shirts, and flip-flops.
I had to pull into a parking lot so I could facepalm myself without causing an accident.
By the time I had arrived for my chaperone shift, the tie had been removed, the shirt unbuttoned, the sleeves rolled up, and he was wearing a massive glow-stick belt. If he could have managed to roll up his pants and go barefoot, I think he would have. He wasted no time in chastising me in front of his peers and teachers, making sure everyone knew this wardrobe malfunction was entirely my fault. Gamely, I played along.
He has no idea what stash of parental blackmail I have, or how and/or when I intend to use it. But believe me, the day is coming.
And despite his embarrassment, he truly did stand out at his one-and-only middle school dance, making it an unforgettable night for all of us. Truth be told, I think he had fun being Lord of the Dance.