Tuesday, June 3, 2014

Old School Memories

Prom Time
It's prom season here, with tuxes, limos, flowers, etc.  Of course, now it's all recorded on FB and Instagram.

My prom was 25 years ago, or so, in Houston. I wore a tea-length gown with cream lace overlaid on light pink fabric (satin?), which is practically nun-like compared to today's red-carpet gowns.  But I loved that dress, purchasing it in the fall, when shopping for a homecoming dress.  I think I even had shoes dyed to match.

My date was a young man I'd known for four years, a Euro-pop loving, 80s-androgynous Vietnamese immmigrant who wore more eye shadow than I ever did.  We'd been in math club and all of our Honors classes together, but didn't quite date; I don't think we ever even kissed.  We went to the prom more as friends.  No surprise now, all things considered.  I wonder what ever happened to him.

Anyway, he was late picking me up, having to sneak away from his parents who did not approve of white girls (is this my type?), but we had a great evening: a fancy pre-party in the backyard of a classmate, dinner at Tony's which was tres-sophisticated for us suburban teens, and then the dance at the Houston Club, I think.  It poured rain like a monsoon most of the night but didn't dampen our spirits much.  There was a casino-themed post-prom lock-in party at the high school--they were so scared of us drinking and driving--and maybe even an after party at my house for breakfast early in the morning?  I can't rightly recall.  Did we watch a movie?  Then, some group of us all went to a state park together for a picnic the next day (prom was Saturday night) and then skipped school on Monday. Mainly, I remember my dress, taking pictures with my cat, Curiosity, the pink rosebud corsage my mom got me, the orchid corsage my date brought me, the rain . . . and that's about it.  Still, good times, though perhaps not nearly as vital as it all felt when I was eighteen.

Basketball Fun
I used to go to a lot of high school basketball games, namely because a good friend of mine played varsity.  Sometimes Pop would go; other times, I'd go out afterwards for ice cream with some of the team.  I learned enough about basketball rules to enjoy it, remembering both the rules and the fun when we went to a WNBA Connecticut Sun game with the Girl Scouts this weekend.  It was our first major league sport and our first women's team, which was fun.  Sis even got some of the players' autographs during the GS festival, while Bud played in a bouncy house.  And then we cheered and cheered during the game (well, Sis was bored by the third quarter, but happy enough when we won!), between explaining the rules, foul calls, and jargon.   This little boy behind us booed loudly when the other team, Atlanta Dream, shot free throws, loud bordering on crude with "Foul You!"  He was still young enough, maybe eight, to be intimidated--not that the adults in his group tried--so I finally turned around, shouting to him two aisles up, and said, "Hey kid, enough with the booing.  That's not being a good sport."  You could have knocked him over with a feather then, and each time afterwards when I glared at him.  It didn't mar the experience, though.  And I think we liked it--and also eating barbecue and wandering the casino (they play at Mohegan Sun)--that we'll go back.

Because, sometimes you can sorta go back again.

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