In the 50s and 60s, middle school didn’t
exist—only junior high and high school. Junior high included
grades 7-9 while high school consisted of grades 10-12. This picture
was taken of me at the end of my 9th grade year as I headed to Austin
Junior High for its Spring Dance—a timeless, teenage rite of
passage of sort, a dance heralding the beginning of our upcoming high
school years.
As I recall, the pre-dance preparations
included getting
my hair professionally done and finding the perfect dress—a
cowl-neck, silky yellow and white vertical stripe dress. On the
night of the dance, Dad surprised me giving me a yellow wrist corsage
to match my dress. Before driving me to the dance, he tied it around
my right wrist saying, “You’re a beautiful young lady!
I’m proud of you.”
He drove me the short distance to Austin
Junior High and
pulled up to the school’s entrance and did the most amazing,
chivalrous thing.
“Wait,” he said as he put the car into
‘park’.” He got out of the car; walked to the
passenger side; and opened my door. “Have a fabulous time. I’ll
be here after the dance is over to pick you up.” As you can
imagine, I felt so ladylike and all grown up!
I scurried toward the gymnasium where I
found my friends
waiting for me. Together, we pushed open the door to the gymnasium
and gasped in unison. The dull, smelly gym we’d come to know
had been converted into a mini ballroom. The bright, overhead
fluorescent lights had been doused, replaced with twinkling string
lights. Purple and silver crepe paper streamers and balloons hung
from the ceiling, and rock ‘n roll music blared over the loud
speakers. For two hours I had a great time dancing with my friends
never expecting any ninth grade boy to ask me to dance.
At the end of the night and just before the
last dance,
it happened. Ralph Buchanan, the ninth grade heartthrob, made his
way across the dance floor and stopped—stopped right in front
of me! Me of all people. I just couldn’t believe it.
“Would you like to dance?” he stammered.
I smiled, nodded, and blushed. He took my
quivering hand
in his, escorting me onto the dance floor. I put my hands on his
shoulders. He put his hands on my waist. The scenery and people
around us dissolved as we swayed back and forth together in a circle
for three minutes—the shortest, most magical three minutes of
my life.
Then, the music stopped. The string lights
were doused,
and the huge overhead fluorescent lights flickered on almost blinding
us. The principal stepped onto the stage and picked up the microphone
announcing, “Congratulations boys and girls. You’re
young men and women now. On behalf of the faculty and staff, I
officially proclaim you ‘high schoolers.’ Good night and
good luck.”
A bewildered and speechless Ralph took my
hand in his
and ushered me outside where Dad sat waiting in his car. Then Ralph
did just as Dad had done—he opened the car door for me.
Although my legs felt tingly and a bit unsteady beneath me, I
scooched inside feeling much like Cinderella who’d just been
swept off her feet by Prince Charming. Before closing the door,
Ralph said, “Thank you for the dance. See you at high school.
Maybe we’ll have some classes together.”
“I’d like that,” I replied, blushing
once again.
Dad pulled out of the parking lot; turned
toward me; and
asked, “How was the dance? Did you have a good time?”
“The dance was wonderful!” I replied,
glancing in the rearview mirror quickly catching a glimpse of Ralph
in the shadow of the parking lot behind me. “I had the time of
my life!”
