Tonight I get to be a chaperone at Sam’s very. First. School. Dance.
*cue disbelief, tears, and “I remember when you were a baby!” stories*
He brought a notice home in his backpack a few weeks ago and declared that he wanted to go. I don’t think he knows what he’s in for, but then, in 6th grade, did anybody?
I remember trying to make myself invisible by backing up against a wall with most of the rest of the girls, keeping very busy with pizza and Coke and highly important chit-chat, and trying to look oh-so-cool and entirely comfortable in this painfully awkward and awful situation, so as to have several excuses at all times why I just absolutely could not dance. No, thank you. No. Way.
I’m not exactly sure why anybody went in the first place, since, afterall, it was billed as a dance, at which one would expect, one would think, to be, perhaps, dancing.
But… N. O. No!!! How embarrassing!
Tonight, I’ll be the one hiding in the corner with a camera strategically placed in front of my face so as to hide my parental giggling. (Well, I’m also going so that I can be there to cue Sam as he navigates the social scene, fend off any bullies, and make sure he has a good time. But mostly, for the pictures and the giggling.)
Oh, I know, I’m awful. I’m going to be one of those horrible, mortifying parents who actually shows up at her son’s school dance with a camera. How could I?
But… how can I not?