PROMS AREN’T WHAT THEY USED TO BE

by Ms. Donnie Harucki


My parents grew up, married and raised their children in Brooklyn, NY. They lived three blocks away from my mom’s parents and in the same apartment building as my dad’s parents. 

Back then, city living was enjoyable and cheap! Good thing, too because my dad’s job was never steady.

As early as the birth of my older brother, mom quickly learned to sew clothes. Yes, mom was a whiz with her foot-peddled Singer. And, I might add, our clothes were always tastefully crafted.

I entered my teenage years in 1960. The same year I entered the eighth grade in the local parochial school, St. Cecilia’s. 

For as long as I can remember, St. Cecilia’s always held a graduation prom for the eighth graders. Unfortunately, for those who graduated before 1964, our proms were completely different from the one held in today’s society. 

For decades, the principal of our elementary school, held a contract with a dance instructor. Each January, the instructor would be given one hour a day with the graduating class. She’d line us up according to height, girls in one row and the boys in the second row. The girl and boy of similar height became dancing partners.

It didn’t matter if you had a crush on another boy or not. You danced with whomever you were assigned to.

My girlfriends and a few of the boys knew I had a crush on a boy named Steven. At each dancing lesson, when our instructor turned her back, they would rearrange themselves in order for me to stand next to Steven. Not realizing what we did, our instructor marked the names in her book and Steven became my partner. I blushed at every dance lesson but at the same time, I beamed. I was dancing with Steven. I did at least, until our instructor noticed that Steven was much taller than some of the other boys and rearranged us, once again. My now, set-in-stone prom partner was Eddie. And, in a way, that was a good thing.

You might be wondering why a group of teenagers needed someone to teach them to dance. Our principal didn’t think that rock and roll and the type of dancing those songs suggested were good enough for her school’s Eighth Grade Prom night. Our instructor was hired to teach us to waltz, foxtrot, and cha-cha – dances we would otherwise never learn.

While the students were more or less bored with these lessons, our parents, who would attend the prom with their sons and daughters, were overjoyed. Their children just might find some appreciation for their kind of music. They at least hoped so.

My parents were so proud as they watched me walk into the gymnasium, arm in arm with Eddie. I wore the beautiful pink satin and chiffon dress mom made just for this occasion. The dress had a satin under-slip and chiffon overlay with a satin sash and wide billowing neckline. Unfortunately, mom designed the under-slip strapless. Finding a strapless bra for a skinny thirteen-year old was almost impossible. Actually it was impossible. Mom had to purchase the smallest one she could find and modify it so it hopefully fit my thin body. It did – but barely.

As I said, my parents beamed as I entered the gym with my “date” and began to dance the first waltz.

Eddie was a good dancer and our rhythm was excellent. While I was having a fun time, deep inside I still secretly wished our instructor hadn’t changed my partner. Eddie knew this, of course, since he was part of our childish conspiracy to have me end up with Steven. 

As our night progressed, Eddie proved to be more fun than I first anticipated. We talked easily and laughed with enthusiasm. 

As typical teenagers, we also imitated our instructor who seemed so rigid as she walked and danced, you would think her spine had been starched instead of the black dress she always wore.

The more Eddie imitated her, the more I laughed – until suddenly, I almost, screeched, “Eddie, excuse me. I have to run to the ladies room.”

“Uh, didn’t you just go during our break ten minutes ago?” he asked confused.

No, I didn’t need to use the facilities for a nature call but at the same time, I didn’t know how to explain to him that I was now almost bra-less!

The bra my mom purchased and refit for me, slid, during one of my bursts of laughter, down to my waist! 

“Yea, well, you made me laugh a bit too hard and I gotta go!” was all I said as I raced to the restroom to fix underwear.

Then I hit another dilemma. My dress had a back zipper!

How on earth was I going to get the dress down to fix the bra?

I didn’t. I used my imagination and worked it up, a bit at a time pinching my dress with each and every move, until the bra was just about where it should have been.

After leaving the restroom, before being swept up in Eddie’s arms for the approaching cha-cha, I hurriedly walked across the room and explained to my mother that she quickly needed to find two safety pins. It may have taken her an hour, but she eventually found them and fixed the bra that didn’t fit.

Eddie and I finished our prom. I finally confessed, as we walked in the directions of our apartments, why I hurriedly ran to the ladies’ room. We enjoyed another hearty laugh about it. 

That night, I realized having Eddie as my partner made my apparel problem laughable. If my partner had been Steven, my embarrassment, more than likely, would have driven my thirteen-year old innocence to tears.

Yep, I guess it’s true! Proms surely aren’t what they used to be. Amen to that!


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