By Lorry Myers
This was my daughter’s senior year in high school and along with finals and scholarship applications, came Prom pressure. Every girl wants an unforgettable dress, something that shows her personality.
A dress like everyone else.
With this in mind, Mariah asked to start prom dress shopping early, determined to find the one. Dresses were pulled for her to try on and when Mariah didn’t come out to show me a single one, I slipped into the line of dressing rooms to see if she needed help. Just outside the door, I heard her.
Mariah was crying.
Tiny, little, sniffling tears, tears that told me all I needed to know. I cautiously tapped on her door and asked, “Mariah, what’s the matter?”
“These dresses just aren’t for me.” Mariah replied, trying to sound like she didn’t care.
My youngest daughter is her own biggest critic, often seeing herself in ways that others do not. So, on the way home I suggested that we have someone sew her a dress. She could choose the pattern and the fabric and the prom dress would be unique to her.
I thought I saw a hint of hope in her eyes.
Together we bought material to go with the pattern Mariah had chosen. The long dress was simple with a splash of color and beading that gave it personality. The seamstress took Mariah’s measurements and told us she would call when the dress was ready.
For the complete column, see this week’s edition of the Centralia Fireside Guard
