The other night, my daughter attended her first dance. The invite requested “formal attire,” which translated to playful mini dresses paired with sneakers. She indulged in a salon blowout—an exciting treat in our household—and spent the afternoon getting ready at her friend’s place, munching on sushi. When I picked them up later, they were buzzing with energy and sugar, celebrating my daughter’s unexpected victory in the dance contest. Her success stemmed not from technical skills but from her courage to dance alone, inspiring others to join in.
Initially, I imagined my beloved child alone and vulnerable on an empty dance floor, spotlighted by the DJ. But then I paused, recalling my own first dance—a Sadie Hawkins-style event that served as a fundraiser for our local hospital. In my town, the tradition was for all ninth graders to dress up and gather at the Marriott ballroom for a night of dancing. That year, I was at a new school and felt the awkwardness of finding a date. Ultimately, my two friends and I invited three sophomores and formed a group.
My mom took me shopping for a dress in the local department store’s basement. Fresh from soccer practice, I was determined to find something that suited my style. My older sister had worn a rather quirky dress to her dance, and I was determined to avoid a similar fate. I eventually found a stunning off-the-shoulder, long-sleeved velvet dress that was incredibly comfortable. I paired it with ballet slippers and a simple pearl necklace, ready to go. Before social media, we were blissfully unaware of makeup trends; I think I wore a swipe of mascara and borrowed lipstick from my mom.
After posing for photos in someone’s living room, we piled into a rented limousine to the dance, sneaking sips of Goldschläger in the parking lot. The night is mostly a blur of flashing lights and taffeta, filled with excitement and nerves. Classmates I hadn’t seen since kindergarten were now decked out in tuxedos and gowns, each with their own adolescent quirks.
One moment from that night remains etched in my memory. For context, I have what my family refers to as “ordinary brown” eyes—certainly not the stuff of poetic musings. They don’t sparkle like the ocean or possess the depth of the night sky. Yet, Van Morrison’s song “Brown Eyed Girl” felt like a personal anthem for me.
When the DJ played it, I squealed and dashed to the dance floor, spotting two boys I had crushes on (neither of whom was my date) chatting nearby. I boldly declared, “I love this song. It’s about me. One of you has to dance with me!” I genuinely believed this was the moment my life would change. However, they exchanged glances and, with sympathetic smiles, both declined my invitation.
I remember feeling disappointed, asking them incredulously, “Really? Neither of you will dance with me?” But when it became evident they weren’t going to budge, I took to the dance floor solo. I might have joined a group of friends or spun around by myself in my black velvet dress, but I don’t recall. What I do remember is that it didn’t break me. I asked, faced rejection, and still enjoyed a magical evening filled with youthful awkwardness.
So for all the parents with kids heading to proms and dances this spring, feeling anxious about potential heartbreaks, picture me at 14: a brown-eyed girl in a fabulous dress asking both boys I liked to dance and getting turned down. And yet, it was fine. If you’re worried about your child’s heart being broken or facing rejection, just remember: life is full of moments yet to come. It may sting for a little while, but they will bounce back. I’ve lived to share this story and have danced joyfully through countless nights since.
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In summary, while your child’s first dance may seem monumental, it’s just one of many experiences they’ll encounter. Embrace the journey and trust that they will grow from each moment, regardless of the outcome.