First, a disclaimer. My son will hate me when he finds out I wrote this but, hey, I’m the mother of a teenager, I’m used to being hated, so here goes.
Earlier this evening I dropped off my 14-year old son in Clarkesville to meet up with his date for the homecoming dance. Ever since, my mind has been reeling and my heart aching. Why, you ask? I’ve wondered myself. After all, it’s just a dance. Kids – excuse me, t-e-e-n-a-g-e-r-s – go to dances all the time. But not homecoming, not my son, not all the time. This is his first homecoming and it will be his last first homecoming.
Oh, I feel rather foolish sitting here with tears welling up in my eyes, trying to ease the pang in my heart by writing about it, but I just can’t help feeling melancholy about the whole thing. Surely I’m not the only mom out there tonight feeling this way. I mean, it was just yesterday they were babies and now…and now…this. Homecoming. It’s a rite of passage – an entrance into the “big people’s'” tent.
During school hours our Habersham County ninth graders are safely tucked away in their own academy. Freshmen in name but freshmen apart from the high school across the street. Sure, they mingle with the upper classmen at ballgames and such, but it’s rare they are allowed onto the hallowed ground that is Habersham Central High.
Now, tonight, they are all there, all together making memories that will last a lifetime.
Remember your first homecoming dance? Remember the hype, the excitement and the game leading up to it? Remember spending hours after school decorating for the dance and spending even more time getting dressed for it? I do. It’s been a long time and my memories are a bit faded but I still remember my friends’ faces, the freedom I felt on the dance floor and the sheer exuberance that came with feeling ‘grown up.’
When you’re a teenager there’s just something special about going out on the town without your parents in tow. Paying for your own meal (with Mom and Dad’s money); riding in a car, just you and your friends (the only one in the group old enough to have a license sitting behind the wheel); and, in general, soaking up the intoxicating fumes of independence (that better be the only ‘intoxicating’ thing that happens tonight).
No, for teens Homecoming’s not just a dance it’s a transformative experience; a glimpse into the future of life on their own. For us parents it’s a glimpse into the future of life without children. Dropping them off, not just downtown, but at college. Watching them pull out of the driveway headed to their new job as they glance back at you in their rearview mirror.
Funny how things change. When our children were young we left them at home. Now they’re leaving us. It starts with a dance, a ballgame, a date, and ends up with a whole other existence. We’ll always be connected to our children but we won’t always be with them. And tonight, that thought hurts.
There is comfort in knowing it’s my job as a parent to raise my son in such a way that he will be able to leave: That he’ll have the tools, the wisdom and strength of character to make a life on his own. There is comfort in knowing that right now he’s having fun with his friends and later we’ll have our own homecoming. When he walks through that door he’ll give me a hug, loosen his tie and tell me all about it. I can’t wait!
By the way, if your teen didn’t take pictures at the dance (on the off chance they left their cellphone at home) here’s how it looked. The teachers and students at HCHS, led by Fine Arts/Chorus teacher BJ Addison, did a brilliant job decorating to the theme “Phantom of the Opera.”
