On Chaperoning the School Dance
A small snippet from my hopefully-one-day book
I’m sorry for all of the hours you spent chaperoning the school dance. The thing is, I resented you for it. It was something about home dripping into those walls. Something about your presence reminding me of the two of me, the one that cried on the floor while you meticulously steamed every wrinkle out of my dress, and the one wearing it – not a centimeter of fabric out of place. There was something about you there, lurking with the knowledge of the very way I liked my eggs, something about your tenderness and comfort and all too much empathy, something about the way it all made me feel safe, too safe. It’s too easy to deem a mother’s presence at the school dance “embarrassing”; shame is only a fraction of it. Most of it is the way you could glimmer in the corner with too much love. I resented you for knowing the two of me, and still loving me enough to show up.
I’m sorry for all the hours you spent chaperoning school dances. Because now, standing alone in the corner at a college party, I might actually need you. I might actually need you to bring the soft air of home into these walls, to wash the beer stains out of my clothes, to let me cry about the stupid fact that no one here knows the way I like my eggs.
I’m sorry that I understand it all now. I’m sorry that I still can’t say it.
Thank you so much for reading this small snippet of my hopefully-one-day book of “micro memoirs.” I hope something resonated, or at least sparked a thought — maybe just a fraction of a feeling.
Please please share any and all feedback/thoughts/silly unrelated musing :)
So good!