I was stunned. « But she’s his grandmother. This is special. »
« I’m sorry, it’s policy. »
When I told my son, his face fell. But instead of getting angry, he got quiet. Thoughtful.
« Then we’ll make our own prom, » he said.
He got to work that same night. He borrowed lights from the drama club, strung paper stars across Nana’s backyard, and convinced the local pizza place to donate food in exchange for a shout-out on social media.
A few friends helped. They set up a table with sparkling juice, printed menus, and even made a little photo booth out of cardboard and glitter.
And that Saturday night, my son walked Nana down her own little red carpet. They danced to old records and laughed so hard the neighbors came out to watch.
And then… something happened.
Cars started pulling up.
Students in tuxedos and gowns stepped out.
