A Mom’s Letter to Her Freshman Daughter
Guess what: attending the dance was mandatory in my ancient time, in my far away world. And as much as you think that we didn’t care back then how we looked, I’m telling you, we cared.
One year my mamma’s sister announced that a friend of her came from Germany and had a few yards of amazing fabric for sale. She was thinking of me. There were already a few mothers lined up to buy the fabulous fabric, when my aunt put her name on the list.
It’s in vain to tell you that I was tall and thin, because it’s hard for you to believe. So, after a little debate between mom and auntie, they both decided that 1 (one) yard of fabric would be enough for my dress.
“She has long legs and it’s all right if they would show a little bit,” was my family conclusion and I went with that.
The tailor did a remarkable job and when the day came, I was nicely put together.
I said “see you soon” to my mom and dad that Saturday afternoon and walked to the ball in my new outfit. No, we didn’t have a car and no, there were no taxicabs, and yes, we lived in a jungle.
First hour went by and nobody invited me to dance, but I kept myself busy chatting with other girls and eating finger food. The boys had invited all the other girls to dance after a while, but me. It’s true that my height had caused some intimidation among my male schoolmates in the past year.
I blamed myself doing sports and facilitating those growing hormones to go crazy and I blamed mom and dad that they didn’t make me prettier.
The girls would come, drink some water and go back to dance. I was totally envious on their flushed cheeks and sweaty hair.
Until he came, Nagy, kind of a round body, science lover and wearing eyeglasses.
I never liked him, but now, when he got close and asked me to dance with him, I couldn’t wait to say “yes.”
We managed to waltz, my head easy towering the room over his head, but I didn’t care. The nerd saved your mamma from an everlasting shame.