The first time I chaperoned a middle school dance, I’m not sure who was more nervous, me or the 11-year-olds.

These kids were barely out of single digits but I was suspicious of them, particularly the boys. These strange boys want to dance. With our daughters. Oh, the nerve.

A couple of other parents and I staffed a check-in table at that first dance. As each middle schooler arrived, the mom sitting next to me merrily crossed a name off the list, sending each inside with a cheerful “Have fun!”

Hold on, mom. What’s with the happy attitude? And telling them to have fun? Was she crazy? They don’t need to have fun. Not with my daughter, they don’t.

Here’s what else I was thinking: Just why do we need a dance anyway? Come on kids, why don’t we all sit down in a circle, criss-cross applesauce, and play some board games or charades? While we’re at it, turn the lights back on and turn down the music. We don’t need it so dark in here. I can’t hear myself think.

Instead, I grimly checked IDs and tried to keep from glaring at each would-be Romeo. “Mind your manners,” I muttered under my breath as I ticked each name off the list.

The next time I chaperoned, I was better prepared. A couple years of parenting a high schooler had given me some much needed perspective. In other words, I chilled out.

Recently, I found myself back at the middle school dance check-in station. At 7 p.m. on the dot, the doors opened and in they swarmed.

Tween girls in skinny jeans flipped their hair, clutched their friends’ arms and crowded around the table, calling out their names and grades, all at once. Spotting other friends already inside, they squealed and pointed excitedly. Some were already singing and dancing along to the music.

Next, a bunch of boys piled inside the hall, smoothing down their hair and digging out crumpled wads of $1 bills from their pockets. Some were so scatterbrained, they forgot their money, or didn’t even notice the check-in table. We had to wave them down before they dashed inside.

There was a bit of drama when a few of the girls’ outfits didn’t meet the dance dress code. The short skirt offenders expertly whipped out their cell phones to summon back-up attire. A few tugged on the hems of their shorts, hoping they’d pass muster. Other girls came equipped with an assortment of outfits and pulled out alternate tops and bottoms for their friends to try on in the bathroom.

Compared to the girls, the boys seemed almost overdressed, wearing long-sleeve collared shirts and jeans. Some wore wallets with chains attached to their belts, as if they feared middle school dance pickpockets. Funny how at a dance the girls go for fewer clothes while boys put on more.

When asked for student ID, many pulled out cards with their photos from fifth, fourth and even third grades. Who are those little people pictured? What was that innocent little fourth-grade face doing out this late? Wasn’t it his bedtime?

Most of the kids were very sweet. Some were downright adorable. One or two showed off some eyebrow-raising “Caution: Danger Ahead” attitude. Good luck with that one, I thought to myself.

I poked my head inside the hall. It was hot in there. Near the teen DJ (“Three years experience” read his business card) small clusters of girls bounced up and down. Were they dancing or not? Was my tween one of those girls? I couldn’t quite tell, but at least they kept it rated PG.

Then there was the music. Was it rap? Was it hip-hop? I didn’t know, which made me feel about a thousand years old. Whatever it was, it was loud. Adding to my confusion, I discovered the signature group dance these days is Michael Jackson’s “Thriller.” What happened to “YMCA” or even better, the “Hokey Pokey”?

During what I would call a slow song, I wondered if any boys were brave enough to ask a girl to dance. I saw only one little couple dancing together — with plenty of room in between the two tweens, thank goodness.

Back at the check-in table, I took more money and examined more IDs. This time I could actually smile at the kids.

“Have fun,” I told them, as they ran inside the hall.

Surrendering to Motherhood appears every other Monday, alternating with Michelle Choat’s Gal on the Go.