Pomp and Circumstances

On June 2, thirty one years ago, the 8th grade class of Franklin Elementary graduated elementary school. (Class historian Madd Maxx reminded me of this yesterday.) Decked in our powder blue tuxedos and pastel colored prairie dresses, we walked across the stage to receive diplomas that would propel us into the big scary world of high school. Our theme songs that night were The Way We Were and The Theme from Mahogany. We each presented a long stem rose to our mothers. My mother was thinking of how fast her little girl was growing up, and I was thinking boys, boys, boys! My mood ring was green, and my shoes were platforms. I sat on the stage and anxiously waited for the whole thing to be over so we could get onto the dance where I might boogie to Play That Funky Music with boys, boys, boys!

Our motto was: It’s not where you start, it’s where you finish, and I remember thinking this was the start of something big. That things would never be the same. That I should savor that night because things would soon get mighty complicated, and the skinny little country girl with the brown hair would have to figure out what she wanted to be when she grew up.

My bouquet was made by my grandma. And my dress? The beautiful ivory dress I felt so pretty in? It still hangs in my closet, and every now and then I pull off the plastic and touch it. And remember. And smile.