My Night as Cinderella, or “What the Hell Am I Doing Here?”

By Susan Senator / Boston

The author’s “Very Excellent Photo Bomb,” with President W. Bush, Senator Ted Kennedy, and half of Barbara Walters

It was a beautiful July day, 20 years ago. I was on vacation, staying at my parents’ house on Cape Cod. We had just come back from the beach, and I was checking my voice mail.

The message was from Carolyn Something, and it sounded like she said from the White House. I listened with half an ear, my attention suddenly called into sharp focus by the name, “Eunice Shriver,” and the words “black-tie dinner.” I listened again, and when it got to that part, I wordlessly handed the phone to my husband Ned, my wide eyes telling him that he had to listen to this. As he listened, he gave me the thumbs-up sign and then hung up. We just tried to absorb it all.

“Is it for real?” he asked.

“I think so,” I said.

I was being invited to a black-tie dinner at the White House, where President George W. Bush would be honoring Eunice Kennedy Shriver on July 10, 2006, for her birthday and for Special Olympics, which she had founded in 1963.

The thrill chilled quickly as I remembered that this was a Republican White House, and that I hated President Bush. I was and still am a stalwart Lefty Democrat; how could I go to a White House dinner hosted by a Republican president?

But this president was not like the horror show we have today. W. was honoring the Democrats of all Democrats: the Kennedys and Special Olympics, the organization that had given my autistic son Nat a social life and turned him into an athlete. Special Olympics had found its way through Nat’s profound autism and opened up his world. As a freelance journalist, I had by that time written about this so often that Tim Shriver, Eunice Shriver’s son and Chairman of Special Olympics, had reached out to me.

Me. Ordinary me. I was going to go to a state dinner at the White House. The Prince was giving a ball, and even poor Cinderella could attend.

I would have to get a dress. When I asked the friendly White House social events person what most of the women would wear; she told me, “Oh, Mrs. Bush will most certainly wear a long, elegant gown, as will most women. A few will wear shorter, elegant dresses.”

Elegant. Elegant was difficult for me. But I figured that my wise mother, even though she is pretty earthy herself, would know what to do. Being on Cape Cod, we went shopping in Hyannis, the Kennedy summer playground. I must have tried on around 30 dresses that day, until suddenly, there it was: a sugary pink satin gown, in my size.

The author, all dolled up and ready to go

And so, Ned and I flew to D.C., not in a pumpkin carriage but in a shuttle to Washington. The air was as hot and heavy as wearing a damp woolen blanket. At 5:30 p.m., as we hurried to sweatily dress, I felt the first pangs of fear. What the hell am I doing here? I asked myself. Going to the White House to meet my Special Olympian heroes and a president? Me? So, I did what any socially terrified woman would do. I fixated on the wrinkles in my gown.

The cab dropped us at 15th and Alexander Hamilton Place, where we were to go in through the old Treasury Building entrance. I saw gaping tourists, who must have thought I was somebody, gliding in my finery up to the gate with the Secret Service guys, who looked like the thugs in The Matrix, equipped with earpieces and sunglasses. They stopped us and checked our I.D.s against a list. They did not have Ned down, because it turns out they had him down as “Ned Senator.” (Senator is my last name, not his.) While they checked on Ned, black limo after black limo passed through the gate.

Ned, in our D.C. hotel room. wearing a tux

We stumbled into the East Room a few minutes later, passing a pair of women in military dress playing a huge golden harp and a flute, then filed into a lovely room three times the size of my living room. There were large oil portraits of important people whom I didn’t know, a baby grand piano, and long windows. Not far from me stood Barbara Walters, Tim Russert, Peter Lynch, and Ted Kennedy, as well as others who looked vaguely familiar or Kennedyesque.

What the hell am I doing here? But I told myself: You will not be shy. You will go out there and talk with  everyone.

I started to make the rounds, going right up to people as if I belonged there. I couldn’t help but notice, however, that no other women were wearing pink; most were in black. Ah, so elegant dress = black.

It’s fine, it’s fine, said the confident stranger in my head. My nervousness subsided and I started to enjoy myself, looking around for fellow guests I might try to meet. I made it into kind of a game, in which I would try to meet as many interesting-looking people as I could. What was to be afraid of? I tried Barbara Walters, who was as responsive as a piece of wood. I had better luck getting Tim Russert to pose for a pic with me (below) because Mom loved him as an interviewer because he “follows up.”

The author pictured with “Meet the Press” host Tim Russert

The friendliest people there were  12 “Global Messengers,” representatives of Special Olympics worldwide. These were actual athletes who had competed in the World Games. Some had Down syndrome ; others’ disabilities were less apparent. They were so friendly and open about their experiences, and they wanted to hear all about Nat. Maybe he could compete in the World Games! (He probably never will but it was fun to think about.)

We started lining up for our photos with the President, the First Lady, and Eunice Shriver. I got nervous again and did not listen to the instructions about where to stand, whose hand to shake, and so on. When it was my turn, I looked at President Bush, taller than I had realized, and nearly swooned, although I don’t swoon. I looked away and studied the curtains.

What the hell am I doing here?

But no time for that. I ambled over to the President, and it was clear that I was in the wrong place. But he showed me where to stand and said softly, “Oh, I know, it’s hard to remember this stuff.” For that split second, I was in love with a Republican.

But then it was over and we were ushered out into another overly decorated red silk-hung room, then into the dining area, styled in High Bordello. My seat was at Table 6; Ned was at Table 1. Oh no, they had made a mistake and split us up! But then I saw that no spouses were together.

The dining room tables decorated in gaudy brothel style

A quick glance at the names at my table: Maria Shriver! Senator Ted Kennedy! The Prez, my new best friend. Calm down, I told myself. Remember–elegant, elegant…

Maria Shriver, center, Arnold Schwarzeneger, and Ted Kennedy, to name a few

I enjoyed talking to the man on my left, however, Leonard Flowers, a Special Olympic athlete. who had appeared in a pretty big role in the movie The Ringer, a Farrelly Brothers film about a guy who rigs the Special Olympics. Leonard was sweet and charming. He would not try his soup, and I almost offered to eat  it, but I figured that was bad manners (See? Elegant.)

The author standing next to Leonard Flowers, Global Ambassador, Special Olympics. Former Miss America Vanessa Williams in the background

The food was strange and not enough of it, either: four little bits of lamb as an entrée, a weird salad of grapefruit and artichokes, that kind of thing. Four different wines, including a champagne. Dessert was Mrs. Shriver’s birthday cake and chocolate Special Olympics medals, which I gobbled up.

The Paparazzi

As we filed out for the entertainment, photographers snapped away, so Ned got out his camera. Luckily this happened just as the President and Ted Kennedy were walking by, so I sidled up to them, grinning my face off, and Ned took our picture! Best photo bomb ever!

And then it was time to go. Secret Service or some other military types kept edging us all closer and closer to the exits.

Time to process all that had happened. How could we go back to real life?

But my taxi would soon be turning into a pumpkin. My time at the White House had come to an end.

What the hell was I doing there, anyway? Did it really happen?

But yes, it did. And I have the pink dress to prove it.

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Susan Senator is an author, blogger and journalist living in the Boston area with her husband Ned Batchelder. They have three sons, the oldest of whom is 36 and has profound autism.  Ms. Senator is the author of Making Peace With Autism as well as The Autism Mom’s Survival Guide and Autism Adulthood: Insights and Creative Strategies for a Fulfilling Life. A journalist since 1997, she has a column in Psychology Today, and she has published many pieces on parenting, autism, and living happily, in journals like the New York Times, Time magazine, the Washington Post, the Boston Globe, and NPR. Senator has appeared as a guest on “The Today Show,” MSNBC, ABC News, PBS, NPR and CNN.