Updates from the battle over prom

Or, in our case, proms. Plural.

You may recall, a couple of months ago, I revealed that I am not enthusiastic about proms....

Over thirty years ago, as I mentioned in that linked post, I was denouncing proms as pagan ceremonies where any remaining virgins were rounded up and ritually deflowered. Of course, I couldn't get a date to my own prom.

So I may have been bitter.... And, at the time, I was living in a small town.

Well, anyway, Younger Daughter accepted an invite to one young man's prom -- that's coming up on Friday.

She doesn't much care for the young man in question -- he, supposedly, harbors hopes of making Younger Daughter his girlfriend. Younger Daughter is attending, she says, only "as a friend." Conflict is likely to ensue.

And she did not invite this boy to her prom. That would have given him ideas she'd done her level best to squelch.

You must remember that, here in Chicago, many of our Catholic high schools are still single gender. That includes the schools where my children have gone. So getting a date isn't as simple as mustering up the courage to speak to someone after fourth period English. Because that someone isn't there.

So alternative means of identifying prom prospects are employed. There are meetings among the unattached girls, evaluating possibilities. These meetings extend well into the night via cellphone. And there's research: Facebook is consulted. And consulted. And consulted.

Recently, a new prospect surfaced. Younger Daughter announced she would probably ask "Paco" (not his real name). Paco attends the same school as Youngest Son. "I know who he is," Youngest Son told Long Suffering Spouse and me when we asked. "I think he bathes occasionally."

We were not particularly thrilled at this assessment.

Yesterday, Younger Daughter revealed that Paco had asked her to his prom and she reciprocated.

I had questions.

"Does he play drums or guitar?" (Younger Daughter seems inclined to like musicians.)

"He's an artist," she said.

"When you've tired of him, will he try and blow up our house?"

This was not an idle question. Last year somebody put roman candles fore and aft of our van and fireworks all around the front of our home. Particularly aggravating were the bricks of firecrackers that were on our front porch. When these all went off -- around 2:00 a.m. one weekend morning -- I sprang out of bed and ran down the stairs, threw open the front door, and was about to bull rush into the street looking for the miscreant or miscreants responsible... and I nearly stepped into the explosions on the doorstep. (And, no, I didn't blog about it at the time.)

Running onto the front step could have been painful.

We never did figure out who was responsible. Students or former students of my wife were suspected -- but so too were certain persons acquainted with Younger Daughter. Younger Daughter, in fact, seemed persuaded that the culprit was someone she knew... but she couldn't prove it and nothing ever came of it. The police -- though summoned -- didn't even make out a report.

But I really don't want it to happen again. I was relieved that the car wasn't destroyed by an errant fireball from one of the roman candles. I was grateful that the roof of our house was not ignited by any of the pyrotechnics. (And the absence of damage to anything other than my sleep was the reason why the police made no report.)

But that doesn't mean I'd be so lucky next time. So you can see, perhaps, why this question was one I felt I had to raise.

Younger Daughter's answer was equivocal. "I don't think so," she said.

The prom battles will continue.