Storytime: Finding a cure for prom pressure
This was my daughter’s senior year in high school, and along with finals and scholarship applications came prom pressure. Every girl wants an unforgettable dress, something that shows her personality.
A dress like everyone else.
With this in mind, Mariah asked to start prom dress shopping early, determined to find the one. Dresses were pulled for her to try on, and when Mariah didn’t come out to show me a single one, I slipped into the line of dressing rooms to see if she needed help. Just outside the door, I heard her.
Mariah was crying.
Tiny, little, sniffling tears, tears that told me all I needed to know. I cautiously tapped on her door and asked, “Mariah, what’s the matter?”
“These dresses just aren’t for me," Mariah replied, trying to sound like she didn’t care.
My youngest daughter is her own biggest critic, often seeing herself in ways others do not. So on the way home I suggested that we have someone sew her a dress. She could choose the pattern and the fabric and the prom dress would be unique to her.
I thought I saw a hint of hope in her eyes.
Together we bought material to go with the pattern Mariah had chosen. The long dress was simple with a splash of color and beading that gave it personality. The seamstress took Mariah’s measurements and told us she would call when the dress was ready.
I knew something was wrong when Mariah walked in the house carrying the dress in a plastic bag. When I asked, Mariah said the dress was fine, she liked it fine, and when she tried it on with her shoes, it was fine.
Something was definitely not fine.
Despite her objections, I had Mariah try on the dress for me to see and, when she walked out, I knew why she hated everything about it. It was beautifully made, sewed to look just like the pattern; it just wasn’t the dress for my daughter.
What were we going to do?
Mariah’s eyes wouldn’t meet mine and her shoulders sagged in a way that made my heart ache. It was too late to dress shop, plus purchasing fabric and hiring a seamstress had been fairly pricey.
Still, how could I let my daughter leave home wearing something that made her feel less than she is?
I didn’t care how much it cost.
“Mariah,” I said, understanding filling my words, “you do not have to wear this dress.”
“You spent all that money,” Mariah sighed, sounding defeated.
“Listen,” I said, putting my arms around her, “money isn’t everything.”
The night before the big night was spent digging through drawers and closets and even my Halloween costume box putting together Cinderella’s gown for the ball.
When Mariah came out to show her dad, she was dressed in a floor-length vintage jacket encased in fur trim that fluttered when she walked. Underneath, she wore a leopard print top from my costume box and cropped, black pants that we had hot gunned with beads, creating an outfit with attitude.
Just like the girl who wore it.
Mariah’s hair was curled into wildness and the fur-edged jacket gave her an exclusive rocker look that everyone would be talking about the next day.
“Mariah,” I told her, as she struck a pose, “this is all you.”
That night, my daughter went to her senior prom dressed in confidence and self-assurance, not looking like anyone but herself. She was full of teenage anticipation as she stood in front of the window, poised for the rest of her life. When Mariah left the house on the arm of a handsome boy, she looked back at me with a smile so full of gratitude and unspoken words that it left me with tears on my cheeks and a happy ending I never forgot.
I have the pictures to prove it.
You can reach Lorry at lorrysstorys@gmail.com.
This article originally appeared on Columbia Daily Tribune: Storytime: Finding a cure for prom pressure
