Prom Drama

Tonight B asked me if he could go to the prom of an area high school (not his).

“Are you invited?” I asked.

“Yes.”

“Who would you be going with?”

Friend of a friend–that kind of thing. The prom was still six weeks away. Initially I saw no problem.

“Thing is…” B continued, “there’s more to it than just the dance.”

I braced myself. ‘Like what?” I asked.

“Well, basically, spending the weekend down at the Jersey shore.”

I had heard about these crazy, out of town prom weekends. I always wondered what kind of careless, irresponsible, self-absorbed, new-age, crack-addicted parents would let their kids go trotting off on such a bacchanal. Now I was being asked to become one of those parents.

O, how I pine for simpler days.

I pressed B for more details. He had nothing. A dance and a weekend at the Jersey shore. I told him I couldn’t agree to anything without a wee bit more information.

He failed to see the reason in my request, and informed me of this in a rather volcanic manner. What kind of information, he wanted to know.

Little things, I told him, like will there be adult supervision? Where, exactly, would you be staying? Who’s going? How will you get there? When would you leave? When would you come back?

It was about this time that the phone rang. It was S, B’s friend and co-conspirator (B would be dating a friend of S’s girlfriend).

“I don’t know,” B said into the phone. “He’s still thinking about it. I’ll call you back. Wait a minute! Will there be adult supervision? Okay. Later.”

B turned to me. “There’ll be adult supervision.”

I told B I was sorry, but I would need more than the assurances of another 17-year-old boy. I would need to speak to an adult.

This brought volcanic accusations of being over-protective. I tried to explain that as his parent, I am responsible for B’s health, well-being and development as a young man, and I wasn’t totally sure how a hormone and alcohol-steeped weekend at the Jersey shore would contribute to that.

The eruptions became more severe.

I was becoming borderline volcanic myself, so I disengaged from B before the entire block suffered a meltdown.

I took a walk around the block to collect my thoughts. When I returned B was sulking, but that was better than exploding.

Hours later, when things had settled a bit, I told B I wasn’t shutting down his possible making the trip, but I was still insisting on speaking to an adult who was directly involved with the situation.

I’m not crazy, am I?

To be continued.

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2 Responses to “Prom Drama”

  1. Bill Sinclair Says:

    Hey Soft Heid – I’m with you on this one having basically transported R to his room in a bucket the other week when he arrived home more liquid than solids!!!
    What do you mean “I’m not crazy, am I?” – you know you are!! But, you’ve got it 100% spot on this time.

  2. Your Prom Date Says:

    This is a blast from the past – your prom date. Yes, 30 years ago we attended the prom together. You know who I am. There is that really cute picture. My dress is conservative and I have an actual pink rose in my hair. Your tux is, in a word, cool for 30 years ago but not for today. Think ruffled shirt. You have every reason to be concerned about B, because you know the things his father did, which involved lots of alcohol. But of course it was lots of fun. It is good to know B will be restrained, so he can live to torture his teenage son.

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