Don’t Forget Who Brought You to the Dance
The year was 2007. I was a bright-eyed, bushy-tailed high school freshman, stepping inside the Mariposa County High gymnasium for my first winter formal. My date was Kate Davidson, my heart’s desire at that moment in time. Kate was a junior and not lacking in many departments. Smart, attractive, athletic, popular—out of my league. For the life of me, I still have no idea why she said yes to my invitation. At the time, I thought it was my game—“rizz,” as I think the kids call it nowadays—but looking back with that damned 20/20 clarity, it might have been something closer to pity. In that moment, though, it didn’t matter—she had said yes and we were there, together, and in my adolescent mind, the possibilities were endless. Dressed to the nines—wingtips, game day tie, Life Savers in my pocket, an older woman on my arm, a corsage on her wrist bought and paid for with money I’d earned recycling my old man’s Budweiser cans—I was in heaven. My brace face couldn’t hide the pride, the excitement, and I’m sure a fair bit of the nervousness.
What a formative moment in a young man’s life.
The moment ended.
Subscribe for access to this article plus the entire archive of The Flyfish Journal content—and receive a discount on all products. Subscribe Now