Yesterday, we went to the Ball.
Not our typical Tuesday morning.
Our middle school hosts a Civil War Ball as the culminating unit of a year-long study of our state’s history. Courageous 8th grade teachers dare to take a bunch of uncouth teenagers and teach them the Virginia Reel, the Spinning Waltz, the Patty-Cake Polka.
What happens is magical.
Girls, usually virtually identical in jeans and Aeropostle t-shirts, are transformed, Cinderella-like, into a rainbow of satin and lace, unique and captivating.
Boys who have never seen a pair of dress pants in their lives are suddenly dapper and suave in jackets and ribbon ties.
I loved it.
Not just because of DD#1, who was, in my humble opinion, the belle of the ball. With her cascade of curls, my recycled prom dress (circa-1986), and the last hoop skirt this side of the state line, she blossomed into a beauty that made her daddy cry.
No, I loved it for everyone else there, too.
In a world devoid of elegance, it was a moment of dignity and refinement
Girls were treated like ladies.
Boys behaved like gentleman.
With each bow and curtsey, each swirl of skirts and graceful footwork, those kids caught of glimpse of what it means to be noble.
Maybe one day, years from now, the memory of offering his arm to his dancing partner will inspire a guy to open the car door for his date.
Maybe one day, the memory of the courtly behavior of her dancing partner will inspire a girl to expect that on a date.
So, even though they will never read this, I want to publically thank the teachers and administrators who recognized that there are life lessons beyond testing.
May those lessons be well-learned.
I may be scarce for a few days; this is the retreat weekend where I am working on the prayer team. I would appreciate your prayers for the team and the ladies we are serving!