Dancing to Dreams At the Cinderella Ball
Students With Disabilities Savor Their Night in the Limelight

By Maria Glod
Washington Post Staff Writer
Monday, June 2, 2008; B01

Stella Jackson had imagined this moment for weeks. Her everyday ponytail had been transformed into a cascade of curls in a two-hour salon visit that morning. Now, she glided across the ballroom, teal gown shimmering.

With a big smile she'd wear all night, the 20-year-old senior at Prince William County's Freedom High School leaned into the touch-screen computer attached to her wheelchair.

"I'm happy," she typed. "Sexy."

Then she gave a mischievous nod toward the 17-year-old standing nearby, the young man she would dance with for hours. "Aaron said wow."

Stella, who has cerebral palsy, soon was shimmying and swaying to the booming music of Hillary Duff and Mary J. Blige at the Cinderella Ball, an annual prom for students with disabilities held Saturday night in downtown Washington. Under a swirl of colored lights, girls in sparkly dresses tossed aside high-heeled shoes. Boys in tuxedos pulled off ties. But at a prom like no other, the labels, insecurities and inhibitions that are part of high school life for all students also were shed on that dance floor.

Cari Cockrell, 14, who has Down syndrome, took off her wig and let loose to the "Cha Cha Slide." About 100 students with disabilities were there, with parents and other friends. No one noticed the occasional meltdown, when the loud music or crowd became a little too much. It didn't matter that some students needed help feeding themselves. Couples held hands. Wheelchairs twirled.

"I think the disabilities disappear when they are all together," said Kim Cockrell, Cari's mom.

Helen McCormick, a former Arkansas schoolteacher, held the first Cinderella Ball three years ago at the House, a youth center she runs with her son Todd in a Woodbridge warehouse. They wanted it to be special, glamorous. About 78 students attended.

Last year, the dance outgrew the building, spreading into a tent in the parking lot. This year, during a months-long push for donations, McCormick marched into the Willard InterContinental asking for whatever decorations could be spared, perhaps "almost-dead flowers." She walked out with a free ballroom.

McCormick and the students who come to the House after school to do homework and shoot baskets raised about $100,000 for the ball. They went door-to-door and stood outside convenience stores collecting change. Invitations went out through Prince William and Fairfax county schools, and word spread to students elsewhere in the region.

In the weekends leading up to the dance, girls came to the House to pick donated dresses from racks. Volunteer seamstresses made sure they fit just right, and there were tables of jewelry, shoes and evening bags. For the boys, there were ties and crisp handkerchiefs.

There was magic in anticipation. When she took her gown home, Stella snapped a photo and e-mailed it to her physical therapist. Ben Bittner, 16, a student at Prince William's Hylton High who is mildly mentally retarded, practiced dance moves every day.

Brad Leininger of Woodbridge woke early Saturday to shuttle his wife to the airport. His 16-year-old daughter, Annice, who usually sleeps in, was up when he returned about 7 a.m. She was wearing her floor-length black gown.

"I said, 'Neeci, you have to take it off. You don't want to wrinkle it. You don't want it to get dirty,' " Leininger said.

A few hours later, father and daughter were at the House. Volunteers with curling irons and lip gloss had converted it into a makeshift beauty salon. Sisters Alexandra Velesz, 23, and Victoria Velesz, 18, helped Neeci, who has Down syndrome, fuss over girl stuff.

Once Neeci's nails were pale pink and her eyes had a dusting of shadow, Alexandra Velesz asked, "Do you know how you want us to do your hair?"

"Down," Neeci said.

"Do you want us to curl the back?"

"Oh, yeah."

Just before 6 p.m., U.S. Marines in dress uniform flanked two paths to the Willard doors, holding gleaming swords in an arch as each guest arrived. After a dinner of chicken, mashed potatoes and green beans, followed by ice cream and mini cookies, came a motivational speech from Kyle Maynard, who was born without arms below the elbows or legs below the knees. "American Idol" winner Ruben Studdard sang.

Mary Joy Willsher, 22, who will graduate soon from Hylton High, tugged on her father's hand, urgently pulling him into the ballroom as she scanned the tables. She turned to him, a little exasperated, and explained that she was looking for a friend: "A boy!"

It turned out Ben Bittner, a classmate, was that boy. He had been waiting for Mary Joy, who has Down syndrome, to arrive. They sat together at dinner and later danced.

Once the dancing started, Stella put away the computer. She speaks little, but she and Aaron Cardwell, her friend and classmate, seemed to understand each other just fine.

Aaron joked that her "diamonds" were blinding. "The only thing I can say is you outshine me so much," he said.

As Van Morrison's "Brown Eyed Girl" started, Randy Hildebrandt, an Air Force officer in dress uniform, whisked his daughter, Caleigh, onto the floor. Holding hands, they danced, her deep purple dress glittering as her wheelchair spun.

"We're going to close the house down," said Caleigh, 14, of Benton Middle School in Manassas.

"That's right," her father said. "We are shutting it down."

Sure enough, they were still going strong just after 10 p.m., when the D.J. announced the night would wrap up with a slow song. Hildebrandt lifted Caleigh, who has spina bifida, from her chair, holding her close for one last father-daughter spin. Across the room, Aaron bent his knees, hunching low. He and Stella danced cheek-to-cheek.