COLLEGE DANCE IN HIGH SCHOOL, 1972

A college dance had a special allure to high school kids.

We were high school homers in 1972; the college was Southwestern Oregon Community College, or:

SWOCC.

The campus was in Coos Bay, Oregon, a city of mystery and sawdust.

I’d never been to a college dance, but I was a high school junior and it was time to grow up.

The truth is, I’d never been to any dances besides the one after football games, and since we didn’t win many games they always felt anti-climactic.

We actually got a halftime pep talk during a stomp down accusing us of caring more about the dance than the game.

Most of us were decades away from becoming sports experts with the inside knowledge gained from Bulldog Football.

Also a few years away from asking girls to dance.

A college dance would be different?

“Hey baby, you ought to major in me. Then we could study together.”

That was the knucklehead plan. College girls wanted high school guys, needed high school guys, and who were we to disappoint them?

Guys with older brothers had the inside line on going to a college dance.

Younger brothers got a parental warning: Don’t go the the college dance.

At least I did, and that’s how Saturday night went:

“We’re going to the dance. It will be great.”

“Sounds fun. Drop me off at home on the way. I can’t go.”

“It’s your mom isn’t it? How will she ever find out.”

“She always finds out.”

“Yeah, she does.”

The Walk Of Shame

I got dropped off and watched my pals drive away, then turned toward the front door.

They were off to a big night between North Bend and Empire.

There had been other nights out, one that included a ride in a dune buggy where one of the guys got his foot stuck between the rolling tire and the fender so tight his shoe started smoking.

Another night featured a tight rope walk on a board laid across a pit with a viper in the bottom.

We knew how to have fun on the Oregon coast. If a tree climbing contest doesn’t sound like fun, you had to be there for it.

I knew where I wouldn’t be: At the college dance.

Sure, I could have snuck around and lied about it, but my folks were on to me.

A few years earlier, after staying out late with a warning about staying out late, I came in after midnight covered in mud.

Where had I been?

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I said I’d been to a baseball game, walked Newmark home, flipped off a car that honked, and ran home through the marshland when they stopped and ran after me.

Good story? I looked like it could be true after rolling around in mud puddles.

But, no one was fooled.

Where I’d really been:

A girl in junior high invited me to her house and I never wanted to leave.

Her older sisters were babes and her brother was a varsity athlete. Things were lively as hell. 

My parents grounded me. To show them who was boss, I did the same thing the next night.

I was either troubled youth, looking to walk on the wild side, or enchanted by the prettiest girl I’d met until then.

The first night I lied and no one believed me. The second night I lied and my dad pretended to believe me. He took my side against my mom.

That was it for me. I’d turned my dad into a liar?

Would the girls at the college dance be as enchanting? I never found out that night.

The Truth Set Me Free

I walked into the Tower Street house to find my dad on the couch.

Why wasn’t I out with my friends like I said I’d be?

They were going to the college dance, or the mall, or some other place I was banned from.

Where’s mom?

She’s out in the college parking lot looking for you.

When did she leave?

A knock came to the door before he could answer.

A few of my older brother’s friends came in.

They’d seen my mom in her red jumpsuit cruising the cars. If she’d seen me it would have been a spectacle, one of the events people capture on phones today.

So why are you all here and not the dance?

Your buddies told your mom they dropped you off and she didn’t believe them. We came for the show when she gets home.

We All Waited For The College Dance

Ma came home an hour later in her red jumpsuit like the guys had said.

She was sure I’d been to the dance and started winding up.

But dad and the older guys convinced her otherwise.

I chipped in a few things like ‘learning my lesson,’ and, ‘being responsible.’

She acted like I was speaking a foreign language, but the translation helped.

I did what I was supposed to do and followed orders.

It was a personal victory, but an empty win.

I was guilty until proven innocent, and it was my fault.

That was the start of my ‘self improvement’ kick.

I wanted to get back in my parents’ good graces.

Fifty years later, with my divorced parents both passed, does it even matter anymore?

The short answer is, “YES.”

A longer answer: “Hell, yes.”

Over the years I’ve seen kids doing the same thing, striving for parental approval and going off the deep end when they can’t find a way to meet in the middle.

My kids and their friends have seen it happen to guys my age and guys their age.

My parents weren’t my enemy, or my friend. They were parents doing the best they could with what they had in their life experience.

If I’d had their life experience I may have had a different outcome, but they were stronger people.

Whenever I have a vexing problem I do one thing first: I put on my red jumpsuit and figure it out.

Normal, right?

How do you do it?