As I lean against the clearance rack, the familiar tune of Justin Timberlake fills the store. His lyrics about a suit and tie seem fitting since my daughter is in the fitting room, trying on dresses for her first formal dance. I glance beneath the door and see her feet, adorned with Band-Aids on her heels from the chafing of those pesky flats, standing amidst a sea of discarded yoga pants and T-shirts. Timberlake sings, “… can I show you a few things?” and I can picture the choreography happening just out of sight. First, her toes point toward the mirror as she gazes at her reflection. Then, she shifts her stance, examining the back of the dress, craning her neck over her shoulder. This dance continues as she assesses each outfit, taking her time to find the right one.
At 14, the upcoming ball represents a significant milestone in her high school journey. A typically reserved child, she buzzed with excitement when she first mentioned the dance. After confirming we had no plans for that evening, she asked, “Could we go shopping for a dress?” Nothing too extravagant, she clarified—just something a bit fancy, perhaps with a touch of sparkle.
This is the same girl who once fell into a lake at age four, stuck between a pontoon boat and the dock, remaining silent while trapped in water up to her chest. Looking back, I felt a pang of anxiety thinking about that moment. I had told her, “Sweetheart, if you’re ever in danger, make noise. You need to be noticed.” Her calm response had been, “I knew eventually someone would see me.”
Unflappable, she is the steady rock amid the rushing waters. So, when she speaks about this dance with a spark of eagerness in her eyes, I take her seriously.
Of course, I said we could go dress shopping. I felt a thrill at the thought of witnessing her transformation into the high school girl she has longed to be—one who gets to attend a significant dance with her friends. For years, she has seen this dream play out in movies and books; now it was her turn to be the star.
Moreover, as I watch her try on dresses, I can’t help but reflect on my own high school experience, when I often felt unattractive and overlooked. I attended formal dances, but I never felt the joy I had hoped for. Photographic evidence reveals that I often looked like someone trying too hard, rather than embracing my own beauty. However, I’m not a mother who lives vicariously through her daughter. My pride in her beauty doesn’t diminish my own worth; rather, it highlights the stark contrast between our teenage experiences. She appears to have a healthy self-image and confidence that I lacked at her age.
When I ask her about whether any of her friends are going to the dance with dates, she scrunches her face and replies, “No. I actually want to enjoy myself! It seems exhausting worrying about boys.” Watching her embrace her individuality inspires me.
When I was 14, I often sought validation from others, masking my insecurities with a façade of cheerfulness. Though I had friends and did well academically, I often felt a deep sense of despair. My daughter, however, is different. She has a whiteboard in her room with organized to-do lists and carefully planned outfits for the week. After her cross-country practice, she immediately practices her clarinet, and she completes her homework while multitasking with her favorite shows. Her group of friends has remained drama-free since elementary school.
When I inquire if anyone is ever mean to her, she confidently responds, “Nope. Everyone’s always really nice to me. I think it’s because I don’t bother anyone.” She expresses satisfaction with her social circle, saying she has plenty of friends and is content.
While I recognize that I may not see everything, I feel fortunate to witness her happiness and resilience. I respect her deeply, and it’s essential that I approach her experience with an open heart, resisting the urge to project my past struggles onto her. When she emerges from the fitting room holding a selection of dresses, I ask neutrally, “Did you find anything you like?”
“Just a couple that are okay. I don’t love them, though. I’d rather wear a regular dress with a pretty necklace than spend money on something I don’t love,” she responds.
As we head to the next store, I remember her initial excitement about the dance and her sweet request for a fancy, sparkly dress. She needs to know I heard her.
When she heads off to the restroom, I seize the opportunity to grab a few dresses that I think might suit her. Upon her return, I casually present them, remarking on their colors and styles, particularly one that I know she’ll love. The spark returns to her eyes, and she agrees to try them on.
When the door to the fitting room opens again, she beams with confidence, showcasing a striking dress that accentuates her beauty. My heart swells as I take in every detail, from the Band-Aids on her heels to the rubber bands on her braces. I can’t help but tear up.
Her radiant smile is a reminder of the noise she is making in the world, and I am grateful to be there to witness it.
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In summary, this experience of dress shopping for my daughter’s first formal dance not only highlights her journey into adolescence but also serves as a beautiful contrast to my own teenage struggles. As she embraces her identity with confidence, I am reminded of the importance of listening to her voice and supporting her in becoming the person she wishes to be.