Graduation Dance

High School graduations in small towns are a Big Deal. Ours took place on the long weekend in May. Of course, I'm referring to the party. The actual ceremony was held at the end of the school year, in the middle of June.

Having a Date was the important thing. Not being the most popular girl in the class, I was much too terrified to wait and see if somebody would ask me. I had a friend who had a friend who had a brother who had a friend who was a college freshman. And kind of cute, with it. Perfect! I asked, he accepted, and Bob's yer uncle!

It was a four-day weekend, because the Friday was Sports Day at our school. The celebration started Thursday night, with a pajama party for the girls and a stag party for the boys. Elements of both parties usually got together. Our pajama party was in a barn. The mom-in-charge confiscated everyone's car keys. Of course, that left us completely lacking in escape possibilities when the boys showed up, somewhat the worse for beer. Hamish (yes, that was his real name) hadn't arrived yet from his college town, so I was free to enjoy the barn without having it be a "date." So far, so good. Friday, being Sports Day, included a lot of running around in the sun, but nothing in the way of classes, labs, or other activities for which one would need a clear head. Friday evening, there were various private parties at students' houses. Hamish showed up for that, but pretty much ignored me, took me home early, and then returned to the party and whooped it up with my so-called friends.

Saturday was the Big Day. A dinner/dance. This was the event we had been waiting for, planning for, primping for, all year. It was a small town, and there were few secrets about who was wearing what--half the girls made their own gowns in HomeEc class. Of the rest, most bought theirs locally, at The Twins Shoppe, from their small selection of elegance. One girl had ventured all the way to Capitol City and spent the vast sum of $90.00 for hers. Bear in mind, this was 1966. Me? I flunked out of HomeEc, so designed and made my own gown at home. My mother was away at the time, so I managed to do it without her well-meaning but inept assistance. Suffice it to say that the gown was lovely, suited me, and was totally different from anyone else's. My dad bought me a beautiful white evening bag, but refused outright to purchase white high heels. He didn't exactly approve of high heels on a 16-year-old. I had a black pair, so I bought some white shoe dye and went to town. The black shoes were fairly old and well-polished, so the dye flaked off. At the last minute, I decided to clean all the white off them and go with black. It took a couple of hours to do so, and Hamish arrived to pick me up before I was quite ready. Not to put too fine a point on it; I had forgotten to set my hair, which was shoulder-length, and dead straight, in the era of the Perfect Flip (à la Lesley Gore). Oh, well; too late to do anything about it then. Nobody had told Hamish he was supposed to bring me a corsage, so we headed out, flowerless, with my flaky black shoes, white bag, unusual dress, and straight hair. Hamish said, and I quote: "You are, without a doubt, the most disorganized girl I have ever met!"

I don't really remember much of the dinner or the dance, except that having squished peas on the soles of one's shoes does not lead to grace on the dance floor.

The Sunday traditionally started with a pancake breakfast, and proceeded to an all-day picnic on one of the nearby islands. I say "traditionally," because I didn't go. Hamish had absconded in the middle of the night.

High School graduation ain't all it's cracked up to be!