For the last two years, my daughter, Elsie, had worn a complex orthodontic frame.
Kids at school called it “robot gear.” After that, she stopped smiling in photos.
Then, one day, she walked in beaming and said, “Mom, Mason asked me to prom! He said I was really beautiful.”
My eyes filled with tears.
Everybody in town knew Mason. He was the star quarterback, on the honor roll, and known for being a good, polite kid.
I thought he could be good for my daughter.
She stopped smiling in photos.
When your daughter has spent years shrinking herself, and suddenly the golden boy of town looks at her like she matters, you don’t want to be the kind of mother who goes searching for a trap.
You want to believe in the nice story.
I think part of me also saw something else in it. Something selfish.
See, I had raised Elsie alone since the night her father walked out on me at my prom.
Darren had smiled for photos, danced with me twice, then disappeared before midnight. The last thing he said to me was that he wasn’t ready to be a father.
So, I wanted my girl to have the amazing prom experience I didn’t get.
You want to believe in the nice story.