"A
picture is worth a thousand words, but the memories are priceless."
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!”
