Help! There's a giraffe at prom!

I love everything about the prom . . . the dresses, the decorations, the awesome DJs that play four solid hours of music that makes me want to shake my groove thing.

This year, I worked the ticket table.  That really was the best job because I got to see all the kids dressed up and even looking a little nervous, which was so cute.  The theme this year was Mardi Gras. Oddly enough, that was the theme back in 1995 when my love affair with prom began.

Mardi Gras was also the theme of Prom 2012.  Now, I know I said earlier I have been to 16 proms, but that's not exactly true. Technically, I have only been to 15 because I didn't quite make it to Prom 2012. Instead of going to prom, I spent the evening in the hospital snuggling my sweet new baby boy.

The Friday morning of prom, I woke up bright and early, knowing that Jackson had not listened to my explicit instructions not to arrive before Saturday night. The entire way to the hospital, I kept firing off texts to my co-sponsor Brea, detailing everything that needed to get done. Finally, Brea had had enough (It was 5 a.m. after all) and sent me a text that basically said, "I got this. Stop texting me and go have a baby." Well, okay then.

Deep down, I knew Brea had it under control. She loves prom (and Jeopardy!) as much as I do, and she had a wonderful team of teachers and students backing her up. Pictures from the night proved that it was, indeed, a magical masquerade. 

My problem that morning was I didn't want to have to ask for help. There I was in the middle of a contraction, too proud to admit I needed somebody else to take over. If I hadn't been about to have his baby, I think Alex would have tossed me out of the car for such nonsense.  

This wasn't the first time I had received a stern talking to about letting people help me. Picture it, Columbia, 2003.  It was a warm spring day and my mom and I had run into Earth Fare to grab a few things.  When we got back to the car, I searched my pocketbook for my keys, only to realize they were locked inside my super cool Geo Prism.  What in the world were we going to do?

Enter college crush.

This sweet guy offered all sorts of help, but I just rebuffed him, telling him thank you but we had already called AAA. As soon as he walked away, my mom turned on me and said, "Katherine, you're never going to get a date if you don't let guys help you."  I'm sorry, what?  I'm not some damsel in distress trapped in a tower waiting to be rescued.  I tried to tell her we didn't need help because a locksmith was on the way, but she just rolled her eyes, sighing at my hopelessness.

If you read my Mother's Day post, you know throughout my life I have been surrounded by a group of strong, independent women, women who seemed to be in charge of a lot without needing much outside help.  That's why my mom's directive took me by such surprise and confused the heck out of me. The idea of letting people help me was news to me.

Why are we so afraid to ask for help?  Is it that we don't want to appear weak? Is it that we are afraid of rejection when the person we're asking says no? Is it that we are afraid to release control- what if the person helping doesn't do it the same way we would have? What if she does it better?

I feel like this is a modern problem.  I mean, pioneers didn't have trouble asking each other for help when they needed a barn raised. No way, everybody pitched in and then celebrated with a picnic while Pa played the fiddle and Mary, Laura, and Carrie danced around the fire.

Life is much different these days. Being independent is valued as a strength, while needing help is seen as a weakness. Society praises the "self-made man." Charles Lindbergh will always be remembered for making the first SOLO flight across the Atlantic . . . an accomplishment that wouldn't have been possible without a crew on the ground checking his plane and calculating his coordinates.

I think the rest of the animal kingdom has it figured out. If you know my boys, you know giraffes are a big deal in our house.  Over the years, I've learned a lot about these animals, along with all the other animals that roam the African grasslands (Fingers crossed African Animals will be a Jeopardy! category!). One thing sticks out about these animals- the majority of them live in herds, and the herds work together.  Take elephants, for example. While some members of the herd go out to find food, others stay behind to protect the young. Giraffes, especially, benefit from the herd. A giraffe is most vulnerable when it bends down to drink water, so while several giraffes drink, the other giraffes stay on the lookout for lions and other predators.

In both cases, the animals survive because they help each other.

We should try to be more like giraffes (Long legs? Yes, please!) And maybe we kinda are. What I have come to realize is that all those strong, independent women I knew growing up could be leaders at home, at work, and in the community because they helped each other.  They pitched in to drive carpools, deliver meals, and host overnight guests. Most importantly, they were there to listen and circle around each other in times of need.

It's taken almost 39 years, but I've finally figured out that-SHOCKER-I can't do it all by myself.  And thankfully, I don't have to. Now, instead of being too prideful/embarrassed/ashamed to ask for help, I count my blessings that I have family and friends to ask. How sad would it be if I didn't have a village of supporters willing to have my back when times get tough? 

It can be both scary and humbling to ask for help, but we can't go it alone. John Donne wrote, "No man is an island," and it's so true. We need each other to plan proms, to survive the hard times, and to live life to its fullest.

Jackson feeding the giraffes in 2013. This was the beginning of his obsession.

Alex and Reeves helping a giraffe enjoy a morning snack in  2015.