Article June 13, 2005 Issue

JUST A DROP OF LOVE

By Shelly Richardson

The heavy-metal guitar music blared, as my 11-year-old daughter glared at me. She'd hoped to enjoy her first dance without her mother's watchful eye as a chaperone. Camille knew that certain elements of the dance would be hard for me to accept. She was right. Her friends did body slamming, a type of dance where partners run into each other at high impact, in pants barely hanging onto their hips. And as eighth-grade girls announced the titles of upcoming songs, I recognized language not fit for any playground.

I quietly stood in a corner trying not to let my disapproval be too obvious. And I thought I was doing quite well—until one of Camille's teachers came on the dance floor, revealing a provocative tattoo on his forearm. Let's just say, that put me way out of my comfort zone as a mother.

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