The prom, short for promenade, is an American rite of passage. Derived from debutante balls, a prom changes the teenager even when they don’t know what they’re changing into.

Brother XX rented a tuxedo for his prom in 1966, and the girl’s mother invited our family to watch the pinning of the corsage before the limousine ride to the formal. By that fall, he had enlisted in the Navy and the two never dated again. Brother X, however, took his prom more seriously: He eventually married his date.

Which may explain why I was so nervous in 1976.

My best friend Daina and I met when we appeared in our junior high production of “My Fair Lady” (I was the third butler from the right). Though we went to different high schools, we met on her stoop every night at 6 p.m. to watch “Star Trek” reruns. When May of our senior year came around, she announced: “I’m going with you to the dance, and don’t worry: no sex on the Staten Island Ferry. You won’t even have to kiss me good night.”

Daina was an artiste, and would never show up in the pink Qiana that was fashionable at the time, so she chose a simple white silk dress with a black rose print.

My father, Hap, was not about to have me underdressed for my first (and possibly only) date with a girl. We got up early on a Sunday to take the J train into lower Manhattan. Hap knew a tailor on Delancey who hand-picked a tuxedo for me. and As it was the ’70s, it was black polyester with lapels wider than my hands.

The dance, the next Friday, was at Terrace on the Park, a banquet hall overlooking the old World’s Fair grounds in Flushing. At some point, Daina and I danced with Jim Powers to Led Zeppelin’s “Stairway to Heaven.” Even though I felt like my cover was blown, Daina whispered, “He’s been waiting for this for two years.” So, for me, the prom really was a coming out party.

Which brings me to Yakima, a smallish city on the eastern side of Washington State.

Compass High in Belmont is a great school, but with a student body of 41 and a senior class of just six, there’s not enough room for cross-pollination. Going to a prom there would be like going to a family reunion to pick up a date.

Two years ago, my son Aidan met a girl online. And even though the two shared Minecraft and Roblox adventures, she remained theoretical to the rest of us.

But after TG (theoretical girlfriend) “promposed” to Aidan, I booked tickets to the city named after the Yakima tribe and marketed (somewhat sardonically) as “The Palm Springs of Washington.” My son let me buy him a suit, just as Hap had done for me, only this one not in polyester. He refused a haircut.

A journey of a thousand miles begins with a four-hour plane delay. We missed our connection in Seattle to the puddle jumper that would have taken us east.

TG rallied her family. She, her father, her mother and her brother drove across the Evergreen State to meet us at Seattle-Tacoma International Airport. On our three-hour ride to Yakima, I used up every single Spanish word I’d ever learned in Duolingo. By the end, we weren’t in-laws but we were all friends. Still, as Aidan got out of the SUV, TG’s Papa asked: “¿Dónde está tu madre?”

Aidan shrugged. “My Spanish isn’t as good as my father’s.”

Yakima and San Francisco are not alike. We have quakes; they have volcanoes (Mount Saint Helens). The town is sleepy; closes at 10. My restaurant choices were Taco Bell and Olive Garden. The hatchet-throwing place was still open, but I was afraid of an axe-ident.

The next night, the little boy who never left his room transformed into Prince Charming. For the first time since the COVID outbreak, he wore pants that were not joggers. When TG got out of the car taking them to prom, Aidan placed a pink rose corsage around her wrist. They posed on a staircase, and he let me have exactly four minutes to take photos. But 240 seconds were enough. Before he got into the car, he gave me the first hug he’d ever given without me asking.

After they drove off, I walked across the street to Olive Garden, and ordered a chardonnay and a basket of breadsticks. I lifted my glass and toasted: “To Aidan. Whether you end up as married as Brother X or as unmarried as Brother XX, this night will change you. I am proud to bear witness.”

And the rest, I must say, is his story.