Yesterday was Prom at our local high school. As usual, girls and guys with their proud parents congregated around our neighborhood to take pictures, since we have some beautiful scenery that people like to use as a backdrop.
But my Mexican-Italian in-laws do not understand Prom.
"Is it high school graduation already? Are they having graduation celebrations?"
"No, it's Prom."
"P-P-P-Prom? What is this. . .Prom?"
"You had two sons and two grand daughters go through the California public school system, and you don't know what Prom is?"
"No. What is . . . Prom?"
"It is a formal dance. The kids get all dressed up and then go somewhere fancy and have a dance."
"Remember a couple years ago? When Amelia went to Prom with Jacob? And they got all dressed up and we went to the high school and watched all the kids walk through the gym? That was part of Prom."
"Or maybe they're just celebrating their graduation."
"No. It's Prom."
"Or maybe it's a big party because one of them turned fifteen; a Quincenera."
"Noooo. It's Prom. Prom."
"I don't think so."
I then stood up, walked over to the wall, and banged my head against the wall three times.