Flashback Friday: Surviving the Junior High Dance

Hola, Wild Boy friends, family, and loyal followers, and welcome back to another thrilling glimpse into La Casa de Testosterone.  We've had a super busy few weeks (think Tasmanian devil whirlwind kind of busy), and I'm left with so many things we COULD talk about. The boys once again testing the strength of my heart on the lake last weekend...

 

 

Or the boys starting tennis, or any number of school adventures like the last minute reminder that we needed pledges for a read-a-thon by the next day, or someone is convinced they have a dairy allergy, all while mom has multiple late night trainings and the cop has to juggle his schedule to accommodate two wild boys with batting practice twice a week. You get the idea, its been kind of crazy. But in the midst of all of it fell one thing that really must be documented: Gavin's first dance.

 

You see, the dance is noteworthy not in as much as Gavin went. It's noteworthy in the fact that I was forced to chaperone, thus reviving every horrific junior high memory I've ever had in the course of two short hours. So why on earth would I do that to myself?

 

Catholic guilt, baby. That's why. During the parent meeting for the school, where NINE children of the 391 enrolled had parents present it became grossly apparent I would get suckered into doing stuff I didn't want to (like get elected Secretary...how the Hell does that happen???). And when a good friend, who also got suckered into being President, said we needed parent volunteers for the dance I made it clear that IF NOBODY ELSE signed up I'd do it. A week before the dance I got a text telling me I was doing it. And that's when the cold sweats started.

 

See, while Gavin is pretty socially well adjusted, I am not. I am a horribly awkward, incredibly nerdy person and in junior high I was even worse. Like...

Truth be told, I haven't really changed that much. The cop, he's one lucky dude huh? So, while I did actually go to dances in junior high because literally EVERYONE went to dances in junior high, my role was not the socially well adjusted, working the crowds mingling, entertaining students from all different grades kind of thing that Gavin does. My role was much more, um...

 

 

But this was for the kids, right? And I'm nearly 40. I drive a cool car, I have friends, I could totally do this. I walked up to the school and immediately saw the line of students crowding to get in, and made a v-line away from them all to the office, where my knee-jerk reaction was to ask for an inhaler or paper bag to breathe into. The secretary, also a friend, grabbed me by the elbow, walked me to a side door, unlocked it and said "good luck, it's crazy in there" before shoving me into the dark. As my eyes adjusted I realized I was standing next to the Vice Principal, who looked at me with glassed over eyes and said "so many kids...it's 100 more than we've ever had here...it's just SO MANY KIDS." Apparently it was about 250 kids, which sounds like a small number to anyone who wasn't engulfed by them. The VP gave me two chairs, told me to stay by the door and not let anybody out, took a deep breath and ventured into the crowd. It swallowed him whole. All I could see was streamers and balloons and pre-teens at every awkward height. They were everywhere.

 

But I was in my comfort zone. I was in the farthest, darkest corner, hidden behind folded in bleachers, safe in my zone of solitude there defending the sanctity of the door. It gave me time to take stock and compare the dances of my time to this one. The balloons and the streamers, all the same. The smell of Electric Youth and Old Spice barely masking body odor was replaced by the reek of Axe and body odor. If the girls were wearing anything there's no way of actually knowing - because nothing is more pungent than over one hundred boys who have determined that a shower from a can is enough to erase the funk of PE before cramming into a sweaty gym.  The photo booth set ups were new, to accommodate everyone having a cell phone to take pictures documenting themselves in leis and plastic grass skirts against fake Hawaiian backdrops.

 

Suddenly, my solitude was destroyed. The VP had left two chairs in my corner, and an awkward boy came to sit sullenly in one. I know, every one of you is thinking I should have asked if something was wrong. But that's like a photographer that interferes with a baby seal getting eaten by a killer whale. I can't interject myself in natural selection, people. So I did what anyone would do. I avoided eye contact and scooted away.

 

Stop judging me. It was all part of the game anyhow. Soon enough, a group of girls came to see "OMG what's wrong, why aren't you dancing, are you mad at me???" and all the other associated dramatic blather. Then off he went, back into the crowd filled with screaming (and as the Principal got on the PA system to warn us all about, slapping) children. Because nobody really dances at the dance. Not like you think. They run around screaming and mysteriously slapping one another until we are all warned that "ONE MORE SLAP AND EVERYONE IS GOING HOME" and I start to text another chaperone across the way that I will in fact pay her to instigate a slap that could buy our freedom. Some random children formed a conga line at one point. Several boys did the dances from Fortnite. One exceptionally brave soul did the worm (poorly). But with the exception of when a huge group did the Cha Cha Slide, nobody did what I would have considered dancing. But I digress.

 

The extra chair rapidly became the bane of my existence. Sullen boys flocked to it (I was later told by a male chaperone at the far end of the gym his extra chair had the sullen girls, so there's apparently some unwritten order to this) and waited to be fawned over by girls oozing with concern. Every time it was the same, despite my glaring and crossed arms becoming more and more directed. Then I had a total stroke of brilliance - I folded up the chair and hid it in the bleachers.

 

Several boys came ambling over, one at a time, and looked in stunned silence at the void where there pout chair once stood. All the while, I sat in triumph and watched them saunter back into the crowd without a harem of silly girls to shower them with attention.  This bitch reputation? Yes, I earned it.

 

Eventually the lights came on, and I knew I had survived.  Was there any inappropriately close dancing? Any smooching? Who knows. Let me tell you what I know - nobody got through my door. Nobody. So I'm going to call that a win.

 

And Gavin? Well, Gavin and his friends love this kind of thing. They really do, as evidenced by the photo below sent to me by another parent before the dance. Notice how my kid is the one sprawled on the ground sucking in every ounce of attention humanly possible? Typical. And yes, he's wearing stripes with plaid. And yes, everyone loves it because he does it. Sigh. There's no easy way for a wallflower to parent kids like the Wild Boys.

 

 

Best of luck to you, all my other wallflower mom friends. And may I heartily recommend a flask if you get called in to chaperone? You know I won't be going back without one. Until next time - happy dancing!