I think our lives are made up solely of male and female interactions and the memories they produce. You can’t tell I just went home for the weekend, can you? It’s weird isn’t it? How nostalgic you get once stepping foot in your old house and looking at your old mug in the photo that’s been gracing the top of the piano for the last 15 years. I guess I should say, young mug, really. There’s nothing old about that face, let me tell you. If you think I look like a kid now, man, should you have seen me in high school. I don’t know how I ever got a date, seriously.

My hair looks ridiculous, my body is so skinny I could literally turn sideways and disappear, and my flannel threads make Jeff Nygaard look hip. What’s magical about all of that is the one photo from that entire time period that rests atop the book shelf in my old bedroom; Prom Night 1995. It proves that, regardless of size, style, or hair product used, a kid can still find a way to score a date when it matters most. And believe me, add all the dates up that you’ve had during the rest of your life, the total will not even come close to that of senior prom. And what’s even cooler about that photo is how beautiful my date looks. And I’m not just saying that. She looks amazing. I’m all tall and gangly, with ruffles no less, trying to be “cool,” and she’s over there next to me in her perfectly placed evening dress with a perfect smile and hair that falls perfectly into place without effort, or the help of one ozone depleting chemical. You could say she was, well, perfect.

I don’t know how I did it. She was way out of my league. And now that I can look back into time, I can honestly see what she did for me and that I could have never accomplished any of it on my own. She made me want to be better at being me.