At about noon on prom day, my daughter’s friends swarmed into my house like a chattering bunch of chickadees. Well, chickadees in sweatpants and cutoffs, who plugged in iPhones and started blasting (semi-) obscene rap songs. Some dashed off to get nails done; others were brought in to braid long hair into “waterfalls” and I cut fruit and attempted to keep them nourished. Dates arrived and waited on our porch. The girls traded makeup, weighed in on gloss color and zipped each other into dresses. Then, transformed from teenage girls to red carpet-ready young adults, they walked down the stairs (gingerly on four-inch heels) and out to the porch, where more moms took more pictures. Then off they went, to the Ag Hall, and the future.