November 3, 2002

Date Night and the Homecoming Princess

When I told Calvin I was trying to think of a title for this entry, he said, "The next step... or 'One small step for Marie, one giant leap for Daddy'".

And then he said, "I hate boys." See, last night was a milestone in Marie's life. She went to her very first Homecoming dance. With a boy. That she's liked since the beginning of the year. She was asked last-minute style, so we went and picked out her dress at Dillard's a mere four hours before the dance. She'd originally picked out a sparkly dark blue dress of the exact same style as the dress I wore for our wedding (which I got at Dillard's for $99), but it was $130. Fortunately, she'd also seen a red dress that she liked just as well, for $59. The deal was that we'd pay for half of the dress, and she'd pay for half. We're trying to teach her about managing her money and saving for the things she wants, instead of spending all of her allowance and then asking us for more money when she doesn't have enough. Since paying $30 is much easier than paying $65, we went with the red.

She raced around in nervous exhilaration to get ready, after getting home and confirming the arrangements with her "date" (GAH! Her *date*!!). They were to meet at a restaurant with a group of their friends beforehand, and she was all a-flutter because this would be the first time she's gone on a date where the boy pays for everything. It was that, combined with the dressy nature of the dance, and going to a sit-down restaurant instead of Taco Bell, that made her feel like this was the "real thing".

"Oh my God, this is actually my first date!"

She paced between kitchen, living room, and stairway as she talked to the boy (a Sophomore!), keeping her voice cool and calm, but outwardly hopping up and down in front of us, waiving her arms around and silent-shrieking "Oh my God!" in the pauses where, we presume, the boy was talking. "I've never been so nervous on the phone in my entire life," she told us as she hung up.

Calvin spoke to her about being responsible; don't get in a car with anyone who has been drinking or taking drugs, call us if she gets into a situation where she's uncomfortable, don't worry about putting on a front and just be herself. She hopped on one foot, then the other, as she listened; she yup, uh-huh, okay-ed along, then raced up the stairs to start getting ready when Calvin was done.

I remember when Michael reached this stage - the going out on dates, the non-Dutch arrangements, the dressing up, the wish to make a good impression. We watched him go through it, and advised him, and were proud of him. Calvin feels the same way about Marie, but I think it's affecting him more profoundly this time. He's caught between being proud of the poised, intelligent, beautiful young woman who is emerging; and being sad and wistful that she's growing up and growing beyond the little girl she was. This is the part where we hope that the lessons we've tried to instill have taken hold, and trust that she'll make the right choices and right decisions when we're not there to guide her.

I went upstairs to check on her as the time we were to leave approached. I helped her with her hair, and assured her that her makeup looked fine, and did the typical urging for her to hurry up. She finally came downstairs (I think I heard Calvin gulp), and I made her pause for these pictures. Milestones need to be duly documented, after all.

We drove her to the restaurant where she was meeting the others. She spotted another person of their group, hollered to him to "wait up!", and said goodbye to us with a waive. Calvin growled as she walked away, "I'm going to have to start force-feeding her and make her fat or something." She looked like a much older, mature woman from a distance.

Calvin's going to have a rough few years of it, I fear. I mean, *look* at her in those pictures! And she's only fourteen! She gets her sense of style from me. Heh.

After dropping Marie off, we decided to have a date night of our own. We stopped for Chinese food, sitting on the same side of the booth and getting all giggly and teasing. We went to see "I Spy" (fair to middling), sitting snuggled together and holding hands. We got home at a little after 10:00, got comfy, and settled in to watch TV until Marie got home. Calvin fell asleep with his feet in my lap, which allowed me to switch channels from something about stealth bombers, to "While You Were Out".

Marie floated in - and I do mean floated - at about 11:30. I called to her when I heard the door open, and she didn't answer. I was afraid that meant she didn't have a good time - normally after a good night out with her friends, she bursts in the front door yelling "Oh my God!!" But when she walked into the living room, I immediately thought, "I recognize that look. I remember wearing it." Bliss. Because everything went perfectly, and she felt grown-up, and the date didn't do anything stupid (and actually impressed her with his dancing skills), and she didn't have to compete for his attention ("We talked and talked all night!"), and everything was just right.

Marie: "He even touched my feet, and he didn't die!"
Calvin: "Huh?"
Marie: "Well, we all took our shoes off to dance, and when I sat down to take mine off, he said "Here, let me do that." And I let him!"

Marie has always been notoriously shy of her feet - she's convinced she's got her Mom's "Fred Flintstone feet" (which she doesn't). So you'll never catch her wearing sandals. And yet she let this boy take her shoes off for her! It boggles the mind.

And so it begins. I'm glad for her and the fun she's going to have over the next four years. These are the things she'll remember for the rest of her life, and we get to be there and play a role. We get to watch her as she grows and matures, and we'll buy dresses and take pictures. We'll give advice and listen to her recount her nights. We'll answer the phone and answer the door, and Calvin will bite his tongue as her dates stand in the doorway and fidget. We'll see them off, and waive as she walks away.

If we've done everything right, maybe she won't walk away too far.

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©Laura Charon 2000 - 2002.