Tag Archives: walt whitman high school

my poet laureate

Midway through the very long graduation ceremony for the graduating class of Walt Whitman 2009 the principal announced an award that was an unknown award for the recipient (and apparently everyone else).

He said that it was a new (2 year old) tradition.

It was a recognition of the poet laureate of the year.

Then he said my daughter’s name.

We’d not heard of this award.

Apparently I jumped several inches out of my seat.

Poet laureate — Carl Sandburg came to mind. Maya Angelou too.

My daughter.

My baby.

My Poet Laureate.

Clare

My Prom, Her Prom

My daughter is going to prom tonight. She’s wearing a lovely dress, classy shoes and an antique Spanish lace shawl. But she’s not happy. She left the house (to go to a friend’s house to dress) ranting how much she hated prom. So, while she acquiesced to try on her dress for me, I won’t get to see her all dressed up for prom.

She’s going to prom with a group of girls she’s known for years and with whom she feels comfortable. She claims that the only reason she’s going to prom is because it is what you do as a senior. Go to prom.

I’d not thought about my prom for a while. I went to prom in my Junior year, but not my Senior year. I went with a guy — Dan. He was a friend. Possibly the best friend I had that year. He liked me. I liked him. As a friend. I’d met Jeremy by this time and didn’t feel comfortable really dating anyone else. I remember not liking prom, but at the time I thought differently. Interesting how time changes memory.

I don’t know if it was considered OK for a group of girls (or guys for that matter) to go to prom alone 1n 1974. I suspect not. At least it never occurred to me to go to prom without a date. I’m glad times have changed though.

So the differences between these two proms, 35 years apart (almost to the day)

Clare bought her dress <———> My mom made mine

Clare’s going with a group of friends <———> I went with one (male) friend

Neither of us looked forward to it.

Tune in later to see of she actually enjoyed it. (Although I suspect that if she doesn’t, she’s not going to lie and say she did)

And yes, I wish I’d been asked to help her find a prom dress. And yes, I wish she were getting dressed here so I could see her before she went and take her picture and act all Momish. But, as I keep on telling myself lately, this is her life. Not mine. (although isn’t there something in the manual on life that allows parents to see their kids in prom clothes? and take photos? And act all proud?)