The boys’ Homecoming Dance was on Saturday.
The theme was “The Wizard of Oz”.
Knowing I was no longer in Kansas, I made a pre-emptive strike a month ahead.
I put on my best wish-granting wizard face and asked my 16 and 14 year old sons if they wanted to take a date.
An actual girl.
To a dance.
I would drive of course, and pay for incidentals (having zero experience in this parenting arena did not slow me down; I merely assumed that “incidentals” would go no further than pizza money).
Years of lecturing on The AntiDate have taken their toll.
They sensed a trap.
“Are you a good witch, or a bad witch?” said their concerned faces.
When I insisted that I was really, truly going to allow this frivolity, they held a Summit Meeting and decided that if they went without a date, they would be free to dance with any girl in the room instead of only the girl they brought.
Wise guys. (I walked away humming,“If they only had a Heart”.)
And the rest of the planning was their own business.
Son A decided to go casual and wear a brilliant green button-down with his slacks.
He went to shine his shoes and decided a little strategically placed crazy glue was a good precaution against his soles joining any flying monkeys in the gym.
Son B was all about the ‘spit-shine’. Nothing less than a flashy red tie and a snazzy vest would do. He put moleskin under his socks, hoping his heels would still be there after four hours on the yellow brick road.
Son A: “Are you wearing deodorant?”
Son B: “Yeah.”
Son A: “Well, put some of this on.”
Son B: “Why?”
Son A: “Because you should layer your deodorants, just in case.”
Son B: “That’s stupid. I’ll smell like a rainbow.”
They slicked up their fresh haircuts and actually brushed their teeth.
I caught them taking selfies before they walked out the door.
Arriving in our black Lexus was pretty snazzy, so said my sons, to which I did a hard eye roll or two, until we arrived in the Merry Old Land of Oz and watched a glittering Hummer limo pull up.
That’s a horse of a different color.
Now there’s some incidentals.
This ain’t Prom, folks.
Okay, no. I can’t even.
I have never stepped foot in a limo in my life, not even at my own wedding.
No kid of mine gets to, unless I get to first.
It’s a Life Rule, look it up.
(My parenting style runs the fine line between mature common sense and childish rivalry.)
But the boys said they had a wonderful time.
They danced with actual girls, and while both had been nominated as court princes, neither won the Homecoming King contest.
Just as well.
They would be posing like the Tin Man, forever.