by Jeffrey A Fuller

Created on: June 10, 2010

All I remember about my high school prom is my purple and black checkered shirt, thin black tie, black pants, and heavily moussed mullet, and oh yes, I do vaguely remember my girlfriend, which may say something within itself. 

It was probably 1986, I don’t remember for sure nor do I feel like looking it up, but that should give my readers some indication as to the atmosphere. Things were pretty peaceful then, Reagan was in the White House, the Soviet Union was in its early stages of falling apart, no one was fighting over seas, and I was getting ready to embark upon the journey of my adult life. I wish I could say more, but after twenty-four years, a stint in the army, college, a wife and a set of twins it is really hard to remember. I do remember the youthful feeling however, and I’m reminded of it constantly because now I’m a high school teacher and serve duties as chaperone at prom every year.

One major difference about high school proms is that for me the tables have turned. I am now playing the role of those whom I once despised. Those who would not let us dance enmeshed to the slow songs, who made sure we were not spiking the punch, and who patrolled the parking lot so we were not making out, those who held us accountable for our homework, test grades, and missing schoolbooks. I’m now one of them. The rest of my school friends have moved on, I don’t even talk to them any more, but here I am, in the same sort of place although nine-hundred miles from where I started.

Today there is a different atmosphere. The one I knew, which seemed innocent and secure, is now unstable. Uncertainty, war, and chaos inhabit the minds of our young people. All of them live as if today may be their last. Future plans are not a priority because tomorrow may never come, so why waste time planning. Besides, if tomorrow does come they have faith that a centralized government will care for them, feed them, house them, all the while allowing them to continue to engage in reckless amusement.

I would like to take them all by the hand and show them to a better way, but anything outside of the objective is strictly forbidden. I shall only ensure that they can read a write, ensure that they know how to answer multiple-choice questions correctly. They call it thinking, I call it programming. For now I will let them dance and enjoy the festivities while they can. Tomorrow will come, but it will be different from today.

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