(This was written some time back for another blog that’s since vanished.  It’s all true — at least, as best as I can remember it — and names have been changed to protect the embarrassed.–CW)

The person who first said “Your high school years are the best years of your life” was either hopelessly deluded or had a really lousy life after they graduated. My high school years stunk. On ice. Every teenager feels at times like they don’t fit in. I felt like I didn’t fit in anywhere. That feeling became worse when Dad moved the family from southeastern Kentucky to the Texas Panhandle in the middle of my sophomore year. The change in terrain was pretty shocking (“Dad? Where are the trees?”), but the reception I got from some of the students at Sanford-Fritch High School was worse.

Dad was one of hundreds who was working on an expansion of the Phillips Petroleum plant in Borger, Texas (Motto circa 1982 — “You can smell us 20 miles away”). It seemed many of the “townies” didn’t like the new kids coming in. That was the first strike against me.

There were plenty of other things that didn’t help. I was a pretty strait-laced kid, which prompted one person to give me the nickname “Captain Whitebread” (among others that I won’t repeat here). I was also terribly shy, overweight, and preferred the arts over athletics…which, in the eyes of the jock and cheerleader clique who ruled the school, proved that I was gay. Nothing could be further from the truth. I was very interested in the fairer sex. I assumed, though, that they would have nothing to do with me. I admired a couple of girls from afar, but I had already convinced myself that I didn’t have a chance with any of them. Besides, their boyfriends would pound me into the consistency of Silly Putty, so why bother? I was more concerned with surviving. Looking back, that makes a decision I made during my junior year pretty amazing.

I did have a handful of friends at Sanford-Fritch, mostly from the drama and theater clique. They were the ones who convinced me to join the committee for the junior-senior prom. We juniors really had nothing more to do than decorate the cafeteria I helped with the streamers and the wall decorations and everything else. A couple of my friends were there to help, but it was mostly the popular kids there. The usual jokes and barbs about my weight, my clumsiness and my alleged lightness in the loafers were thrown at me. Then, after we finished, I heard one girl say under her breath, “Can you imagine if HE actually came to prom? Hopefully, he’ll stay home so he won’t embarrass himself”.

That flipped a switch in my head. I had enough. I was going to sit it out, but now, I was bound and determined to go to the prom. It didn’t matter to me anymore what the popular kids would say, I was not going to let them determine my actions. I went to Amarillo with Dad, who helped me find a suit, and that Saturday night, it was showtime.

I walked through the doors of the transformed cafeteria. I almost walked right back in the other direction. Then I remembered the comment I heard the day before, and steeled my resolve and walked into the room ringed with streamers, navy blue crepe paper, and aluminum stars to see if any of my small circle of friends had shown up. A few did, including Bill. Bill was a big drama-theater guy, but the girls flocked around him. He was a real ladies’ man. Bill was going to be too busy tonight to have anything to do with me. The others had their dates. I didn’t have one, since I was too shy and scared to even ask. So I went into wallflower mode, enjoying the music, envying the guys who had dates, and getting contemptuous stares from the popular kids.

The music was fantastic…the DJ knew his stuff, and had lots of the current tunes we liked. He started to play “Rock The Casbah” and I decided I was going to do something I had never done in public before. I broke away from the wall while my gut twisted into knots, walked to the dance floor, and approached Kay. She was a senior, and while we weren’t really friends, she never treated me like scum, either. I asked, “Can anybody join in?” (Okay, no point for originality). Kay smiled and said, “Sure.”

Up until then, I’d done lots of dancing listening to the radio in my room, but thought I looked really stupid. Tonight, I didn’t care. I cut loose. I was moving my feet to the beat, along with everything else… spins, jumps, whatever (but nothing that would make the chaperones throw me out). Then I heard people on the sides of the hall start to talk. “Great”, I thought, “Here comes the jokes and the insults. Why was I so stupid to try this?” It took a few seconds to realize they weren’t all laughing at me. Some were cheering for me.

“Man! Do you see that?” “The guy can dance!” “Way to go, Captain Whitebread!” I was obviously on some parallel world or something. Kids who acted like they hated my guts were cheering! I kept dancing for a few more songs, then went to get a glass of punch to quench my thirst.

A slow song started playing, and then I saw Teresa walk to my side of the hall. She was a beautiful brunette with sparkling dark eyes and a dazzling smile, smart, popular…and the girlfriend of a first-stringer on the football team. She was in that “popular” group. It took a few moments to realize Teresa was walking toward me. She said my name — which would have been enough to make me smile — then she asked, “I was wondering…would you like to dance?”

Time stopped. I flashed back to eighth grade, when another girl I had a crush on asked me the same thing. Back then, I just stammered “I’m sorry, I can’t…” and walked away. Even then, I was so convinced that no one really liked me that I didn’t know how to deal with someone acting like they did. I hated myself for weeks after that. I wouldn’t let that happen this time. “Yes, I would.”

We made our way to the dance floor, while I looked around to see if her boyfriend was getting ready to tackle me. I couldn’t see him, but Teresa could tell I was nervous. “Relax”, she told me.

“Teresa”, I whispered, “I’ve never slow danced with anyone. Ever”. She smiled and said “Don’t worry, I’ll help”. So, after a few awkward steps, we danced. I had never been so happy and so scared at the same time. Why pick me, I thought? I never asked her outright, so I’ll never know. We talked some small talk while we danced, and when it was over, I bowed ever so slightly and said, “Thank you very much”. She smiled that brilliant thousand-watt smile and said, “My pleasure”. It was our first and last dance together.

It wasn’t, though, my last dance of the night. I stayed the entire prom, and went home with my head in the clouds. The stories spread by the following Monday morning, when I was asked by my P.E. teacher to demonstrate a few of my moves. By then, though, I was already slipping back into my old ways of thinking. I didn’t want to be embarrassed, so I said, “Mr. D., I don’t know what you’re talking about”. He just laughed as if he understood, and said, “No problem, buddy.”

Before long, things were back to usual…everyone went back to their cliques, and the boundaries weren’t crossed. Teresa, though, would sometimes smile at me whenever we passed in the hall between classes. I wouldn’t go back to high school again if you paid me in gold bars. But…if I only had to relive my junior prom…then we could talk.