Aside from the ravages that COVID-19 has had on its victims, the toll on major life events has been enormous. This is especially true of any of the larger gatherings that typically come around at this time of year - proms, graduations, parties, outings and weddings.

My granddaughter will be graduating from high school on June 13. Instead of the full-blown commencement event her high school has had annually, this one will be at the Pocono Raceway in Long Pond, Tunkhannock Township, 24 miles from her home in East Stroudsburg. A number of other area commencements will be held there, too.

Instead of emotional and cheering crowds of parents, siblings, friends and townspeople, just the graduates and immediate family members will be on hand with school officials.

She had no senior prom, no senior day activities, no senior class trip and none of the other traditional rites of passage for this major line of demarcation in a person’s life between 13 years of schooling and either college, a job, the military or some other pursuit.

We were talking about this significant hole in her school experience, and she asked me whether I remembered my senior week activities even though they were 63 years ago.

In an instant, the memories came flooding back. Confidentially, I was quite shocked with the clarity of it all. There are far too many senior year memories to recount here, so I will limit it to just one - the prom.

I attended the Summit Hill Public Schools, now a part of Panther Valley, graduating in 1957. Our prom was held at the junior high school gymnasium. Its theme my senior year was “Evening in Paris,” and at each colorfully decorated table there was a metal Eiffel Tower keepsake for the girl. (As usual, we guys got no memento.)

My date was a blond majorette in the Coaldale Victory Band where I played alto horn. We got to know each other on the long train ride from Tamaqua to Cincinnati, Ohio, in the fall of 1956 where the band had been chosen to play at the quadrennial United Mine Workers Convention orchestrated by its president, John L. Lewis. A few months later, we were going steady.

For the prom, we were, of course, dressed “to the nines” as we used to say back then - she in her gorgeous gown accented by the wrist corsage I gave her that complemented the color of her gown and I in a rented tux that featured the boutonniere she gave me.

We drove to Genetti’s Restaurant in Hazleton, where we met a few of my good friends and their dates for our pre-prom meal. I had veal Parmesan and pasta; I can’t recall what my date had.

As we returned to Summit Hill and parked near the junior high, hundreds of people in the borough had gathered to line the walkway leading into the gym so they could catch a glimpse of the glamorous couples walking the “red carpet” amid the oohs-and-aahs.

Now, you might find this next part hard to believe, but while we promgoers filtered into the gym, which was festooned with red, white and blue streamers and balloons, the townspeople crowded into the balcony overhanging the gym floor and looked down on the proceedings for the entire evening.

So not only did we have teachers serving as chaperones ensuring that era’s definition of social-distancing, but parents were checking up on our behavior on our big night, too. You know what, though, after about a half-hour, we pretty much forgot they were there.

We chatted and joked, as nervous teenagers did in unfamiliar situations such as these, sipped punch (to the best of my knowledge, it was not spiked) and snacked on fancy French cookies.

Afterward, each couple went its own way. Some went for long drives; some, I assume, found some cozy lover’s lane, but my date and I had agreed in advance to drive to the Delaware Water Gap to watch a romantic sunrise.

Neither of us had ever been out all night, so we figured that this was the night to do it. So, I wheeled my dad’s 1955 red-and-white Buick Roadmaster down Route 902 to 443 and then onto 209 and 611 to the Water Gap.

We gabbed for hours. Yeh, I think there were a couple of kisses thrown in for good measure.

We were rewarded for our tenacity with one of the most spectacular sunrises I had ever seen - the perfect capper to a perfect evening. You are probably thinking: How many sunrises could a 17-year-old kid have seen? I delivered the local morning newspaper, so, believe me, I saw plenty of them during my five years of delivery.

I dropped off my date at her home around 8:30 a.m. after we had had breakfast at the Kresgeville Diner, and I crawled into bed about an hour later and slept until 4 that afternoon. I remember when I woke up and stumbled downstairs for a glass of milk, my mother said that when she looked in on me while I was sleeping, I had a smile on my face.

Yes, I guess those long-ago memories remain vivid, which makes me sad that my granddaughter will not be able to recount a similar tale of her senior prom to her grandchild.

By Bruce Frassinelli | tneditor@tnonline.com