I am finally back in Missouri! Home Sweet Apartment!

Knowing my son was getting out of his first Formal Dance at about 9 PM, I again broke a few land speed records (I light a candle in your name, oh Mr. FuzzBuster Inventor) so that I could get here in time to see him when the dance was done. If you are thinking Formal Dance, you have to understand that apparently, in 7^th Grade, Formal only applies to the females. They were all dressed up like the little princesses they still think they could be some day and the boys were all dressed up in their nicest pair of jeans and their “church shirt”. The humorous part was some parents had actually hired limos to take their 7^th grader to a two hour dance. Not one pretentious, over-rich parent. MANY of them! I ask you, is that really necessary? There was actually a Hummer Limousine full of 12 and 13 year olds pull up to the Middle School. What will they do for their Senior Prom? Fly in on a Helicopter that would make Trump jealous?

I got to thinking, as I lay here waiting for the Wings the Red Bull gave me while driving to fold themselves away, about my first few school dances. Remember the nervous, almost stomach-curdling excitement that would begin a day or two before the dance and culminate into a frenzy of pre-pubescent hormones that made you say silly things and do even sillier ones? I remember once the girl I had the hugest of huge crushes on coming over and asking me to dance. In my mind, the music stopped and every head turned to look straight at me. Especially the seven or eight friends I was standing with. Just like in the movies, I can still hear myself answer her in that slow, low monster-sounding voice, “No way would I ever dance with you!” Then the music starts again and all my friends laugh and elbow me like I had just said the funniest thing in the world. As she walked away, the saner part of my mind was trying to scream out, “Come back! I don’t know why he said that! He is completely crazy!! Don’t walk away!!” I was devastated…

But, as 12 year olds often do, I grew up. By the ripe old age of 15, I knew how to handle the ladies! The sophomore Homecoming Dance was an event! One in which, unfortunately, found me between girlfriends. So I went with my friends (most of them from the same group as before, come to think of it). This time though, I was doing the asking and keeping my mouth shut except to ask. Again, the current object of my desire was the target. When I asked her, she amazingly said yes. So we were dancing, slow of course. Only the goofballs would fast dance. We danced the ever-so-popular eighth-turn style of slow dance. On one particular turn, I saw one of my buddies giving me the “pinch her bottom” signal. Knowing this would make them all laugh uproariously; I waited for the other seven turns until they could get a full view so there would be no mistake. I proceeded to comply with my third base coaches signs. You can imagine what happened next. A slap in the face so hard that it stung when I saw her at my 20^th Reunion. As she walked away, the saner part of my mind was trying to scream out, “Come back! I don’t know why he did that! He is completely crazy!! Don’t walk away!!” I was devastated…

Now to think my oldest son and my first-born could be experiencing some of these same things… Part of me wants to give him a card to hand to girls when they approach him saying something like, “This is a 12 year old boy. He is not responsible for any stupid words and/or actions that may occur during encounters with the opposite sex. Please forgive him.” But another part of me knows that it’s all part of this crazy game we call life.

Besides, he’ll grow up… 12 year olds often do.