Prom memories, #2 February 26, 2008

My son, Jazz, is mentally handicapped. Always has been, always will be. (Well, almost always has been, but that’s another story for another day). Anyway, when we moved to our current home, Jazz was blessed to find a wonderful friend right off the bat. He was 10 years old, and this friend, Kenny, became Jazz’s instant pal. (I can’t refer to him by a fake name, because he’s just Kenny). They would play basketball in the driveway and walk to the local pop machine and talk on the phone and do other normal “friend” stuff.

The year Jazz and Kenny were both 16, Kenny decided they both needed to go to Junior Prom. Jazz was very excited, and we talked to him about having a date and minding his manners, etc. Well, we finally realized he thought Kenny was the date! We worked hard to convince him that he had to ask a girl (of all things!) but he finally believed us. So Jazz picked a girl in his special-needs class, a sweet young lady with Down Syndrome, and Kenny asked another special-needs girl.

Jazz and Kenny rented tuxedos and bought corsages and went together to pick the girls up. Then they all went back to Kenny’s house where they had dinner, then they went to the dance. We live in a small community, and one of the fun events of the year is Junior Prom. They have a “promenade”, where each couple walks across a stage as their names are announced. All the parents go and everyone claps and cheers and it’s really fun. We went to the dance to see the promenade that night, and it was so cool. I had known for a long time how wonderful and patient Kenny was, but this was the first time I really understood what a remarkable person he is. The announcer said Jazz and his date’s names, then Kenny and his date’s names, but they came out together. Kenny had his date on one arm, and was using his other arm to guide and shepherd Jazz and his date across the stage. He smiled and behaved as if he was with the coolest kids in the school. And you know what? Because he treated Jazz and those girls that way, most of the other students did too. It was a night this old, tender-hearted mother will always remember.

Prom memories February 26, 2008

My friend, Loralee (Loralee’s Looney Tunes) wrote a post asking about proms, so I decided to write about a couple of them.

I remember this experience very clearly, but I’m not sure exactly which high school dance involved this incident.  I think it was senior prom of my senior year.  This would have been 1975.  I went to a very large high school in Salt Lake and most of our dances were held in the school gymnasium.  However, every now and then we had them at the rotunda of the state capital building or at Hotel Utah, which was downtown, or other places around the valley.  This particular dance was held at Fashion Place Mall.

First you have to picture the placement of garbage cans in a mall.  These were placed every so often down the center corridor of the mall.  It seems like there were some planters and some benches, etc. and the dancing was going on around and between all these things.  The point is:  the garbage cans were NOT placed against a wall.  This is important to remember.

I went to the dance with my boyfriend, who I will refer to as FirstBoyfriend, who was a fun, talented, sweet, really good person.  We had been dating for a couple of years and had gone to many dances and we enjoyed doing “ballroom” dances together – swing, chacha, polka, waltz, foxtrot, etc.  I was excited about the dance, and I had a new dress and new earrings and new shoes.  I don’t think it ever occurred to us to get our hair “done” for a dance.  We just wore it like we always did.  Same with our makeup.   I do remember that FirstBoyfriend brought me a beautiful corsage and I gave him a boutineer.  (How do you spell that?)  We went out to dinner before the dance, and for the first hour or so we had a great time.  Then the band started to play “Roll Out the Barrel” so we did the polka.  We were laughing and spinning and having so much fun, when suddenly I found myself dancing alone!  I stopped, caught my balance, and looked around in time to see FirstBoyfriend running for one of the garbage cans.  I also saw a couple dancing directly into FirstBoyfriend’s path.  There was no collision, as the dancing couple was on the opposite side of the garbage can.  Just as they danced by, FirstBoyfriend barfed.  Poor guy.   He was being so careful to aim for the garbage can, but he hit the girl as she danced past!  Holy Cow!  The horrified girl hustled herself into the restroom, and as soon as FirstBoyfriend could manage it, he got himself into a restroom.  It turned out that he was really sick, and he felt too awful to drive us home, so I had to drive while he laid in the back seat.  Unfortunately, I already had terrible eyesight at that young age, and I was so vain that I hadn’t worn my glasses that night.  So we went home with him moaning in pain and me squinting and hoping not to hit anything.  Now that was a good time! 

Hands February 16, 2008

A few weeks ago, HSF wrote a post (is that what it’s called?) about her hands, and it got me thinking about my own hands, other people’s hands, and also hands in general.

HSF asked the question:  What do my hands say about me?  Hmmm.   That’s an interesting thing to think about.  Probably my hands say that I’m middle-aged, I weigh too much, and I do some odd and interesting things.  Here’s the description:  My skin has recently become older-looking and feeling.  I’ve been a grandma for about 19 months, and I’m beginning to get grandma hands.  There are some brown spots and some saggy, wrinkly parts on the backs of my hands.  I’ve had arthritis for about 25 years, and my knuckles are big.  I have hangnails and deep, slit-like things because I tear thread with my fingers instead of cutting it.  These little crevices change colors periodically, because most of the tools of my trade involve some amount of food coloring or paint – playdough, watercolors, fingerpaints, etc.  My hands hold many memories for me – there’s a scar on my right middle finger that I got when I was about 5 and I jammed my finger between my bike tire and the fender of the bike (think old-fashioned Schwinn, but at the time it wasn’t old-fashioned – it was new!).  The nail grows funny on my right index finger because  few years ago I knicked it in the band saw.  There’s a little patch on the tip of my right middle finger where I ran it up against a running bench-grinder.  There’s a scar on the left middle finger where it got caught while I was pounding together metal shelves for basement storage.  I have scars on the lower inside of both palms from having carpal tunnel surgery.  So there’s my litany of injuries…

I wear two rings, one on each hand.  On my left hand I wear my wedding ring, of course.  I love this ring, and I have from the moment I saw it in the jewelry store at Trolley Square.  If you look at it from the right angle it looks like a bow.  When Piano Man and I were talking about marriage, my friend Joytoholdher and I went ring shopping together at Trolley Square.  I found this ring, fell in love with it, and went home.  Joytoholdher went back to campus (U of U), found Piano Man, and made him go to Trolley Square with her to see the ring of my dreams.  Neither of them ever said anything to me about it, of course, until later.  Well, I told Piano Man that I had found the perfect ring, but somehow we never made it to the store to look.  A couple of weeks later, Piano Man and I were going to a dance at Hotel Utah and I needed new earrings to match the dress I was planning to wear, so my mom and I went to Trolley Square to look for the earrings.  I took her to the jewelry store to show her “my” ring, AND. IT. WAS. GONE!!!  I couldn’t believe my eyes!  It was a sad and tragic moment, to say the least.  Well, eventually I found new earrings and went home and got ready for the dance.   Piano Man picked me up and we went to dinner at The Heather, then went downtown to Hotel Utah.  In the parking lot, before we went into the building, Piano Man got all nervous and pulled something out of his pocket.  IT WAS MY RING!!!  HOORAY!!!  So we went to the dance that night as a newly-engaged couple and we lived happily ever after! 

OK, that was a long story that was NOT about my hands, but whatever.  Moving on.  On my right hand I wear my mom’s wedding ring.  It’s not flashy and it’s not expensive, but it was hers and I love it.  I plan to be buried with it on so that if she wants to wear it for eternity, I can give it to her.  Hope that all works out…

Now about hands…I think hands are the most amazing tools in the world!  Think about it – your hands can do almost anything!  My own hands have sewn baby quilts, and prom dresses and everything in between.  They have knitted sweaters and crocheted (not very successfully) slippers.  They have painted “crafty” things and have stitched amazing hardanger designs.  They have baked dozens of rolls, cooked thousands of meals, and baked who-knows-how-many cookies, cakes, pies, etc.  They have cut and sanded wood, built knickknacks, pounded nails,  shingled a roof,  and painted walls a myriad of colors.

My hands have cuddled baby faces, wiped baby tears, changed baby and big-people diapers, soothed fevered brows, traced scars on a little chest, and changed icky surgical dressings.

My hands have turned the pages of many books and played the piano and the organ and have led singing.  They have held many tiny hands as they learned to write and to read.

My hands have lifted many forks, but not many hand-weights.  They have created many messes, but cleaned up not-so-many.  They are not very good at changing a tire or doing other car work, using a computer, or doing anything especially scientific.

My hands have held other hands, big and small, for multiple reasons over many seasons.  My favorite hands to hold are attached to Piano Man.  After almost 30 years of marriage, I still get a tingle when he takes my hand.

My hands have three times touched the face and hands of a beloved parent for the last time.

So  many things hands can do.  Think of the blessings of hands.