Two Boys and Prom 1995

Prom 1995

What I wish I knew in 1995, or 1996, 1997 .....and 1998.

Boys. I just loved boys. I thought they were so....great! I was not in short supply of boys, I had a great group of friends. I had a group of boys I hung around all the time, we were in sports together. We were all runners. It was a happy, carefree time. There are several boys that stand out in my mind from high school, in fact there are FOUR. However, right now I am only going to tell you about two. 

There was the rebel without a cause. He was tall, and I met him at work. He had two earrings, hoops. It was 1995. He died his hair blue, sometimes shaved it bald, grew huge chops, and he had a tattoo. He wore one of those big chains that hook from your belt loop to your wallet and hung down the side of your pants. We were both into grunge music. He had an old 1970's baby blue Chevy truck and he wore black Doc Martins and flannel shirts. In other words, He was EVERY MOTHER'S WORST  NIGHTMARE. I found him intriguing and different from the boys I knew. The clean cut boys. It was at this time that I learned I had a "thing" for bad boys, old trucks, motorcycles, and tattoos. The funny thing is..this boy had a thing for Molly Mormons like myself. He came to church with me a few times, we went out on dates, and had "deep, REALITY BITES type" philosophical conversations. There were a few other things about him, like the fact that he told me once I was like a PIECE OF MEAT. That should have been the first red flag. This boy and I were just friends, but the intrigue I had for him because he was so different...so different from me and I had him wrapped around my little finger and I knew it. 

Then, there was the guitar player, the swimmer. We went to Senior Prom together. He was kind and very eager. We went to a Weezer concert, he played the guitar for me and had long chats on the phone. We sang out loud to songs on the radio and he could really sing. He actually had a job for Central Christian Church playing in their band on Sunday, even though he was Mormon. We ate at Red Robin and he was as sweet as can be. He was kind and I think I was the first girl he fell for, and for some reason this bugged me. He would call me up and ask me if I wanted to go get ice cream and I would say I was busy, even though I wasn't. I just didn't want to hang out with him. He told me his parents were twelve years apart in age and for some reason this grossed me out so much. I just kept thinking about how when his Dad was 12, his Mom was just born. For me, this was the kicker. He went ALL out for prom this poor sweet boy. We went to the lake and water skied all day. Then he brought me home and I got ready for Prom. A few hours later he picked me up and he had a corsage that had half a dozen roses on it! I mean HOLY COW I had a whole bouquet on my arm. (His Dad later called me because I broke this boys heart and told me how he poured over the flowers trying to find just the right corsage)

*****AND THIS IS WHERE I WANT TO TAKE MY BRATTY 17 YEAR OLD SELF AND SHAKE HER BY THE SHOULDERS AND YELL AT HER!!! THIS IS EXACTLY THE BOY YOU SHOULD BE FALLING FOR!!!!!! Little snot nosed brat! 

Because instead of feeling bad, I had a TWINGE of guilt. I was more annoyed that he had his Dad call me in the first place.  Back to Prom Night, he took me to a very fancy dinner. We had a fun little group of friends. We danced the night away and on the way home, I fell asleep in the car. Truly. I was exhausted! (So rude!) We reached my home and he walked me to the door, I invited him in for a minute because I felt bad I had fallen asleep. He was acting weird. Really Weird. I knew, as I had been in this situation before it was because he wanted to kiss me. Now. My seventeen year old diva self was going to have non of that. So when I got tired I declared, "Well, time for you to go." I walked him to the door and he stepped out onto the porch. I said, "Thanks, goodnight!" and promptly shut the door after him without a second thought, changed and snuggled into my comfy bed.

Oh. BROTHER. 

I never saw the first boy again. He turned out to be creepy started drinking with his Mom, smoking and who knows what other kinds of stuff. I then developed a taste for REFORMED bad boys that carried me into college. The second, sweet boy I ran into at school one day. He was handsome and had returned home from a successful mission to Moscow. I could see a twinge of embarrassment as I confidently walked up and said, Hi! How are you? I could FEEL the insecurity radiating from him. We talked for a minute, an in that minute I confirmed to myself that I MOST CERTAINLY had made a good choice in blowing HIM off. 

Many years later. I wish I could go back, I wish I could be a little softer, kinder,  and given that poor boy a little kiss. What would it hurt, really? He was trying so hard. After all I have been through in my life I have learned that I would give anything, ANYTHING to have a man treat me as kindly, thoughtfully as this sweet boy did. He must have learned from a Dad who waited a very loooong time to meet his sweetheart. See, because this boy, this second boy truly knew how to treat a girl. I on the other hand, have learned to appreciate men like this one. The quiet ones, the smart ones, the not so confident ones, the shy ones. I flash them a smile every time I get a chance. I guess I am trying to make up for that stupid girl and on some level. In a very small way letting them know that they are wonderful.