Eventually everybody becomes a crotchety old fart who hates the younger generation. Fifty years from now, you’ll sit in your recliner or rocking chair, flick on the holo-tube, and wonder what the hell is wrong with kids these days.

Or if you’re like me, that situation describes your current life — sans holo-tube of course.

Now I’m sure you’re wondering what it is I’m specifically referring to. Could it be the rising fashion of dresses pressing boobs to rest just under the chin? The insipid drama of television shows like “The Hills”? The slop that passes for literature or film — “cough’Twilight’cough”? Well, while I could go off any one of those topics, what I’m talking about here is what I consider to be one of the most asinine, waste of time activities in Western youth culture:

Prom.

I know, I’m a fun hater.

Despite my attempts to distance myself from the loathsome event, I was nonetheless recently subjected to picture after picture from friends and relatives still in high school. “Look at how gorgeous she looks!” they would exclaim. “They make such an adorable couple,” they would coo. “Isn’t prom great?” they would ask.

“No,” I would say. “She looks like a cinnamon roll with her fake-bake skin drowning in glitter,” I would sneer. “They’re a terrible couple; he’s cheating on her constantly,” I would assert. “Prom is not great. Prom is stupid,” I would, and do, argue.

See, there was a time when prom meant something. Much like a coming-out party for young aristocratic women, prom was originally designed to be a rite of passage, congratulating and welcoming young adults into the tidiness and status of adulthood. That was the reason behind the dresses and tuxes: to be a display of formal respect and maturity. Today, the event exists as vanity for vanity’s sake. It revels in its pointlessness consumerism. It’s a black hole of excuses that can and often do lead to traffic violations, sexual assault and death.

Traffic deaths during prom season weekends are higher than any other time of year, as shown in 2006 by the National Traffic Safety Administration. At my high school, alcohol consumed before the after-prom party likely played a role in the death of a classmate. The school and community could do nothing but stand and watch as her skull fractured, blood seeped onto the gymnasium floor, medics rushed her to the hospital and her body lay comatose until eventually she was removed from life support.

All I can do is stare and ask: “Why?”

Why put yourself at that kind of personal risk? Or even if you think you’re invincible or the death of your peers doesn’t faze you, why spend hundreds or even thousands of dollars on a dress or tux you wear once? Why present yourself like cattle for community applause? Why scrutinize your appearance and popularity, as if those were the most important attributes of your being? Why, why, why?

When I attended my stepbrothers’ graduation Saturday, I knew this was their coming-of-age event. They had taken on real responsibilities, were seen as adults, and the rest of life is now ahead of them. I could tell this was true, because they had earned it. They worked, they struggled, they expanded their knowledge and applied themselves to the community.

In comparison, prom — still seen for some reason I cannot discern as a coming-of-age ritual — is nothing but vapid emptiness and social frivolity; a chance to be seen. A chance to play dress-up and pretend to be adults by overindulging in restricted vices. Are we really so desperate and unmotivated in our high school years that we need to define ourselves by such low standards?

With the end of April came the end of prom season for most schools. But it’ll be back. Kind of like a recurring rash that might also have its own little special tie to prom night.

If you have younger siblings who are looking, or perhaps you yourself still look, to prom as a milestone of life, please don’t. We’re better than that. Pride yourself on your individuality, your achievements, your intelligence. These are the valued assets that will be most useful to you throughout life.

Or hey, you can feel free to ignore everything I’ve just told you. After all, I’m apparently just some old coot.