Facebook friends are posting photos of their kids and grandkids all decked out for proms at their high schools. These photos are rekindling a 60-year trauma.

During the years of childhood my only acquaintance with proms were news stories of teenagers driving recklessly after proms.

The reality of a prom didn’t hit me until I was a sophomore in high school. Sophomores could volunteer to be servers at the Junior-Senior Prom. I thought I had better things to do.

The next year our junior class staged a fundraiser to finance our prom and I pitched in. In those days proms included a banquet and dance and I understood that class members without dates could sit at “stag tables” and at least enjoy the meal. That was my intention; I can’t dance.

At least that was my intention until one of my female classmates asked who I intended to take to the prom. “Myself,” I answered. “No,” she said, “I mean who is your prom date?”

Easy question and I had an easy answer: “I don’t have a prom date. I plan to go stag.”

That answer was not acceptable. “That won’t work,” my female classmate advised. “You’re the junior class president and you have to give a welcome to the seniors. And to do that you have to sit at the head table and you can’t sit at the head table without a date.”

I had not been aware of all the responsibilities of political office.

She didn’t even pause to acknowledge my shock, quickly advising that so-and-so female classmate didn’t have a prom date so I should ask her to the prom.

Long story short, I did and the dateless girl became this dateless boy’s prom date. I had known this girl since we were 4 years old. It was a friend date.

I did worry about the dance part of the prom but a buddy told me that the ability to dance was not important.

“Just hug to the music,” he said.

It all worked out.

I was also elected senior class president so the next year I knew what was coming. Realizing now that I could survive a prom I acted a bit earlier and asked a girl from a neighboring town to be my senior prom date. She accepted on the condition that I would attend her school’s prom, too.

So by the time I graduated high school I had attended three proms. Not bad for a country bumpkin who can’t dance and who didn’t want to go to a prom in the first place. Proms were behind me now, I thought.

Fate dictated otherwise. Two years out of high school I met a pretty young thing who was about to become a high school senior. Her mother thought I was too old for her but she was cute, she was smart, she was resolute and she agreed to go to a movie with me. Soon she was wearing my knuckle buster class ring, wrapped neatly with yarn so it would fit her tiny finger.

Several months later her senior prom was approaching and she expected me to be her date. I admit I was hooked … badly. I didn’t even resist. I rented a white dinner jacket, bought a pretty corsage and went to one more prom. I hugged to the music again.

Then I forgot all about proms until my kids were in high school. Our son went to his prom without fanfare. Our daughter, however, needed a prom dress, so off to Omaha we went and mother and daughter found a just-right frock — a tiny red dress.

When my daughter came out of her room, hair styled, make-up applied and ready for her date in her tiny red dress, I panicked. She was gorgeous. “You’re not going anywhere,” I exclaimed, “until your daddy smacks you with an ugly stick.”

The next spring my wife and I were asked to serve as ticket takers at the prom’s public entrance. The prom was a big deal in our town and the number of seats for Grand March spectators was limited.

After seeing all the sharp-looking young men and women I commented to my wife that the kids looked so much more grown up than when we were in high school.

“Girls didn’t have cleavage when we were in school,” I observed. Cindy rolled her pretty brown eyes and said, “Oh yes, we did. We just didn’t let you see it.”

So, that’s my prom story. I’m glad they don’t have proms for old people.

Arvid Huisman can be contacted at huismaniowa@gmail.com ©2025 by Huisman Communications.