I am a baby boomer. I was born in the fifties, spent my childhood in the sixties and my teenage years in the seventies. I watched a man land on the moon and was not quite a teenager when Sesame Street came on the air. I also went to charm school. Yes, charm school. Hard to believe that Vietnam was going on and I was learning how to cross my legs while wearing a dress so that young men would not get a peek at my underwear.
I hadn’t thought about Charm school in years. I was watching an episode of 24 and started to laugh out loud. Jack Bauer is going to turn himself in for a hostage swap. He was in handcuffs, and talking in his best Jack Bauer, sexy, low whisper, intimidating voice and all I could think of was how he had his shirt buttoned all the way up. Charm school came to mind. I don’t remember how the episode turned out, but I can pretty much guarantee that the wardrobe person did not go to charm school. I am blaming Cinderella for the whole charm school fiasco. She set the standards so high that the rest of us were forced to go to charm school so that we to would be able to find our prince, and of course, help him to dress correctly. This was the thinking of two normally sane people that I like to call Mom and Dad.
I was very young when I learned about Cinderella. She was looking for the prince. Of course she hadn’t gone to college. My folks raised me with the expectation that I would go to college , get married and then have children. Sort of Cinderella light. I would do it in that exact order. A big part this plan is dependent on finding the prince. I never really thought about the prince showing up. Mom and Dad were taking no chances that the prince would be able to find me or worse that the prince would show up and I would not be prepared. I was a bit hyper in my younger days so my parents kept me busy doing sports all year round. I played softball and was on a swim team in summer, cheerleading in the winter and gymnastics all the time. Clearly there was going to have to be some changes made if I was to find the prince. Apparently the prince does not have directions to the ballpark or the pool. Cinderella did not participate in sports. She didn’t own a glove, or cleats. She did however have a pumpkin and a fairy godmother. I didn’t have those. This being the case, the solution seemed so obvious to them. They sent me to “charm school”. I quite sure that charm schools don’t even exist anymore. They are not actual schools. They are places where young ladies got instructions in the proper art of being a young lady. The charm school teacher kept referring to me as a tomboy. She was not using her warm and fuzzy voice when she made that comment.
I thought I was doing well in charm school. In charm school I learned many skills that have served me well over the years. I learned the valuable skill of the proper way to cross my legs while wearing a dress. The secret is in the ankles. I also learned the proper way to apply makeup. I learned that you don’t button your top button unless you are wearing a tie. That was Jack Bauer’s fashion faux pas. My favorite skill that I learned in charm school is that I can actually place a book on my head and walk across a room without dropping the book. This skill is so diverse that I have it listed on my resume under other skills.
Sadly, charm school was not the great success that my folks were hoping for. The teacher did not understand my unwillingness to cross my legs at the ankles while wearing cleats. She did not understand wearing cleats at all. I tried, in my nicest proper young lady voice, to explain the art of wearing cleats to her. I tried to explain to her that good posture in a dugout is useless. The whole book on the head thing was so inappropriate for a dugout. I tried to explain that in softball upright is not really a good thing.Her position was that white Keds are what proper young wear for athletic endeavors. Cleats were not in her vocabulary. Needless to say, she was not overwhelmed that title nine passed.
She told my folks in her best proper not so young woman voice that there were just some young women who did not quite fit in charm school and I was one of them. She apologized profusely.My parents were shocked. Cinderella was dying on the vine. After charm school there was only one way to restore the Cinderella dream. It seemed so obvious to the normally sane people that I like to call Mom and Dad. Ballroom dance lessons. I’m not sure what those two were thinking but my brother and I along with two of my cousins were sent to a local dance teacher and forced to learn to ballroom dance. In case the prince had gotten directions and found his way to my house, I would be ready. Not only can I walk with a book on my head, and cross my legs at the ankles, now I could also ballroom dance. What a package. The prince showed up and surprise, surprise he doesn’t dance , doesn’t button the top button , doesn’t wear ties and doesn’t need me to tell him how to dress. Where is my fairy godmother when I need her?
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