It’s Homecoming season in Texas, which means for weeks, my social media feeds are flooded with photos of elaborate HoCo “proposals” and mums so enormous they barely fit through a doorway.
It makes me think back to what Homecoming season looked like when I was a high schooler.
As a teenager, I was a student leader, drum major of the marching band and had a larger-than-life personality that most high school boys found intimidating. Suffice it to say, nobody was knocking on my door with a giant cookie cake and a poster board that read, “It would be so SWEET if you’d go with me to HoCo.”
But the Homecoming dance sounded really fun, so I decided to go with my best friend Leslie, with whom I knew I was guaranteed to have a blast.
We spent a Saturday afternoon making our own mums, putting each other’s names on our ribbons. On game day, we wore them proudly to school, and I didn’t think anything of it until a boy in my class took a closer look and noticed my friend’s name on my ribbon.
He gave me the hardest time, belittling me in front of the class for going to the dance with my friend instead of having an “actual” date.
Finally, I stood up, poked my finger into his chest and said, “If you’ve got such a problem with it, then why don’t YOU ask me to the dance?”
I’ve never seen a mouth snap shut so fast.
Leslie and I had a great time at the dance, but the best part of the night came afterward.
When we got home, my mom saw us all dressed up and decided it was too early to call it a night. So she piled us into her car and drove us to a fancy, high-end hotel in Dallas where we could walk around and “be seen.”
While roaming the hotel and feeling glamorous, we heard a live band playing somewhere nearby. The door to one of the ballrooms was open, so I poked my head inside.
There, in full swing, was the wildest wedding reception I’d ever seen.
And on the stage was none other than country pop, rock and roll and novelty musical group Vince Vance & the Valiants!
I grabbed Leslie’s hand and said, “Let’s go inside! We’re dressed just as nice as they are. They’ll never know we weren’t invited!”
We made our way to the front of the dance floor and proceeded to act like we belonged there.
A few guests gave us suspicious side-eyes, and even after some people figured us out, they threw their arms around us and welcomed us into the fold. Before long, we were dancing, singing along and having the time of our lives with our brand-new friends.
That was about 30 years ago.
I went to plenty of dances throughout high school after that, accompanied by “real” dates. But none of them was ever as fun — or as memorable — as the night I went to Homecoming with my best friend and ended up crashing a wedding reception.
So now, when I see all the HoCo and prom-posals filling my social media feed, I think of Leslie. I think of Vince Vance & the Valiants. And I think about the high school girls who might be sitting around, waiting for someone else to decide whether they’re worthy of an invitation to the dance.
I want them to know that sometimes, the best memories happen when you stop waiting to be chosen.
Make your own plans. Bring your own friend. Walk through the open door.
Sometimes, if you’re lucky, there’s a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity (and one heck of a story) waiting on the other side.
I look at my girls, just 10 and 7, and I hope they never sit around waiting for someone to ask them — to the dance, to the party, to join the club, to be included.
I hope they learn early that they don’t need an invitation to live a full life. (Although they really should have an invitation before attending a wedding reception).
I hope they have the courage to ask, the confidence to go anyway and the audacity to walk through a door when it’s open.
Because I’d rather see my girls risk being told “no” than spend their lives wondering what might have happened if they’d only taken the chance.
And if nobody invites them to the dance?
I hope they put on their favorite outfit, grab their best friend by the hand and go make some incredible memories.
