Prom Dress Moments

When my daughter was seven years old, we arranged to have her birthday party at a place called "My Secret Garden". Some enterprising ladies had rented an old victorian near our home and convinced all of their friends to part with their bridesmaid and prom dresses long lingering in forgotten closets. Some toy dress up shoes, a selection of old paste jewelry and plastic bracelets and garage sale accessories and they were up and running. A fashion show and tea party was included in the price of the party. All I had to do was supply a cake. These women, as far as I was concerned, were geniuses.
We scheduled the party, sent out the invitations and arrived on the appointed day and time. Anticipation reigned supreme. A bevy of little girls anticipating games, sugar in various forms and make believe arrived like bees just released from a dry hive.
After all of the gaggle of little girls arrived and began rippling through the vast array of "gowns" and accessories, I was left to wander around and help accessorize.
There it was. Hanging on a circular rack amidst some very dated eighties numbers, was an exact duplicate of my senior prom dress!!!
Now I graduated in 1976. For those of you who weren't around and those who are trying to forget despite incriminating photos tucked in albums to the contrary, it was the era of what were termed "granny gowns". I think the original motivation was to emulate late eighteenth century party dresses of the old west. Anyway, there was usually a smidge of lace, sometimes lace up bodices, floor length with some ruching and more lace. Other girls in my class, those with breasts chose something more elegant. This dress made me feel like the princess I wasn't and suited my self esteem, which was marginal.
It was powder blue and made of dotted swiss which meant that my prom date and fellow redhead, John Galligan would be reduced to wearing the classic 70's tux. Powder blue, wide lapels, ruffled shirt and HUGE bow tie.
As I stood in that sea of seven year old girls choosing and accessorizing, the memories of that magic night returned with a smile. We had a good time, John and I, innocent and good.
I pulled my daughter away from her friends. She had not yet made a decision on what "gown" she was going to choose as the belle of the ball.
"Honey, this dress was the exact dress I wore when I went to my senior prom! Don't you want to try this on?"
"No, Mom. That's really ugly."
Sigh.
I remember that day, party, moment fondly. I smile whenever I think about it. And my daughter, the truth teller was probably right about the dress. At the very least she is entitled to her own opinion.
It is one of the many memories I have accumulated, much to my good fortune, since marrying my husband and becoming a mom. As my daughter leaves for college at the end of this summer, I find myself documenting the memories and scrapbooking my brains out. My Creative Memories consultant loves me. But the fact remains that I was burping her and diapering her about a week ago. Or so it seems.
In the interim, she has grown up into an incredible kid who now has a couple of aging prom dresses hanging in her closet. Not out of fashion yet, by any means. But one day I will remind her of that story and we will both smile.
Because I don't want these stories to die. I want the memories I have made in my life to live on after I am gone. I may end up being just another link in the chain, but my link will be colorful and well documented.
I write about this because I have a friend with whom I grew up who can no longer do so.
George Bastable died on July 4, 2009. He was fifty.
We all moved into the same subdivision outside Chicago in the mid-sixties. We all went to the same elementary school, junior high school and high school. Because we were the baby boom, each of these schools was built for us and was brand spanking new.
George was one of a passle of brothers. He played basketball and football and always had a ready smile. He dated a girl one year younger for forever. It was sort of assumed it would always be for forever.
But in college, George apparently lost his way for several years. He got married, divorced and returned to working in the dry cleaning business that I think his parents owned.
It's not that we were ever close. But he was accepting of everyone and willing to call most folks his friend. He resurfaced at our thirtieth reunion three years ago. He had married happily, got his degree and became a coach and middle school teacher. I'm sure he was one of the best as encouraging others was his shining quality. He wrote columns for a local paper, and, apparently had some short stories and plays. I understand he was working on a screenplay. It was good to see him and catch up for what was to be the last time.
But what he won't have is prom dress moments. His three year old daughter and eight year old son will have to soldier on with out him. What I keep thinking about is the fact that George doesn't have those memories engraved on his soul. Wherever his soul is, it won't have those comforts and that thought makes me incredibly sad. I'm sure he has some great memories. But for leaving too soon, he has lost even more good ones. For his kids and for George.
Everyone chastises everyone else to "hug their kids" and "cherish each moment". Good advice, no doubt. Not always realistically executed. Just remember the memories that make you smile and perhaps pass them along.
God Bless, George.