I Sewed My Prom Dress From My Late Father’s Work Shirts—My Classmates Called It Janitor’s Rags, Until the Principal Stopped the Music and the Whole Room Went Silent

I Sewed My Prom Dress From My Late Father’s Work Shirts—My Classmates Called It Janitor’s Rags, Until the Principal Stopped the Music and the Whole Room Went Silent

PART 1

Nobody in that gym knew who had been paying for their lunches.

Nobody knew that the dress they were laughing at had little folded secrets sewn inside every pocket.

And I didn’t know yet either.

My mom d*ed during childbirth.

I was born that same night.

After that, it was just my dad and me.

His name was Stan Faulkner, and he was the custodian at Stonebridge High School for nineteen years.

He packed my lunches in brown paper bags and drew a tiny broom on every one.

He made pancakes every Sunday, shaped like whatever I asked for.

Once it was a giraffe.

It looked like a potato with a neck.

He learned how to braid my hair by watching YouTube videos on his cracked phone, standing in the bathroom with a comb in his teeth.