Epilogue
Berry
“Phil, we have to go!” It’s been downright impossible to pull him away from his computer recently. It turns out he loves consulting
for medical start-up companies, advising on product sourcing, distribution, and market positioning, more than he ever liked
dealing with regulatory and compliance issues or cash flow management at his own company. “Phil! The emails can wait! But
your son cannot!”
“Sorry, sorry,” Phil says as he comes scrambling out of the home office, still fiddling with the knot of his tie. “I got caught
up.”
He hurries along behind me as we head out to the driveway, where Leo’s already in the car with Hollis and Yvonne, the ignition
running. Though it’s been several months since Leo got his learner’s permit, I don’t know if I’ll ever get used to the sight
of my baby sitting in the driver’s seat. I also don’t know if he’ll ever progress beyond the learner’s permit, but I do know
it’s worth letting him try.
As usual, Southreach Senior High School’s graduation ceremony is being held in the auditorium at Meadowbrook in order to accommodate the many friends and family who want to attend.
When we get there, the seats have already started filling up, and I feel a little frantic to find six seats together.
But then I spot Harrison, where he and McKenna have already saved seats for the rest of us.
The way she’s looking at him, leaning toward him as he talks, I think maybe she’s beginning to budge about going on one of the dates he keeps asking her for.
She catches sight of us and pops up, motioning us over.
“You go on back, honey,” I tell Leo as the others go to the seats. “Now you see where we’ll be sitting so you can wave to
us from the stage.”
“I’m not going to do that,” he says. “You will be able to see me even if I don’t wave. So I won’t wave. I don’t need to, so
I’m not going to do that.” He walks away, holding his cap and gown, heading down toward the stage.
I make my way over to the others, apologizing to the people who stand to let us slide into the row.
As I settle in beside Phil, I give McKenna a quick hug and then lean across her toward Harrison.
“You all set for later?” I ask him.
“Damon’s there now, setting everything up.” Harrison and two of his friends are working on opening their dream restaurant,
a farm-to-table bistro they’ll call Meadow & Tide that serves sustainably sourced, locally grown food. For now they’ve started
with a food truck, but it bears the same name and will open officially in a week. We decided a graduation picnic would be
the perfect way to test everything out. If it does as well as they’re expecting, they might open a few more trucks. It’s not
time to quit his day job yet, but he’s on his way.
We’re interrupted from chatting when the first notes of the Pomp and Circumstance march beginning flowing from the speakers, and of course, the waterworks are instant for me.
That song.
My baby.
Then we sit quietly and listen to opening remarks from Principal Chung. Next, the valedictorian, Paige Lopez, gives a boring
but sweet speech about the importance of working hard and being changemakers in the future. And then, finally, it’s the moment
we’ve been waiting for.
As Leo walks up to the podium, Phil grabs my hand and squeezes. With my other hand, I take hold of McKenna’s.
In his dark green cap and gown, Leo appears to be the picture of composure. He walks slowly and deliberately, just like we
practiced. When he reaches the lectern, he removes a small green airplane from his pocket and puts it on the stand so it’ll
be there in case he needs it. And then he begins reciting the speech that he’s spent the last month practicing.
“Good evening, ladies and gentlemen, faculty, staff, and fellow graduates.
“I asked my mother why the kids in my class would have voted for me to be the one who gives the student speech for Southreach
Senior High School, and she told me it’s because I’ve had many challenges during my life, and that people like to hear about
times when people were able to overcome obstacles. My mother also told me she would help me write my speech.”
The crowd chuckles at this, as I’d told Leo they would. He nods at the audience, like they’ve done the right thing, and then
continues.
“Here is what she told me to say: High school has been a journey, and for me, it hasn’t always been easy. I’ve spent a lot of time feeling different, like I was following a script that everyone else knew by heart, but I was still trying to figure out.
“But that isn’t how I talk, so I told my mom I would write the rest myself.”
More light chuckles from the crowd.
“I watched a lot of YouTube videos to learn what graduation speeches sound like. I watched seventeen. The clearest thing I
learned from them was that the student speakers give a lot of advice. So my first piece of advice to the class of 2025 is
that after you leave high school, if there’s something you need to know about, you should look on YouTube.”
One of the kids onstage behind Leo calls out in agreement. “Right on, Becker!”
Leo flinches slightly but continues.
“Second, from watching the videos, I learned that lots of speakers thank their families. That was boring to listen to, and
I didn’t want to be boring, so I thanked my family yesterday. The other thing almost all the speakers talked about was something
they learned in high school. I would have liked to hear more about what they learned in their classes, but they talked about
the things they learned outside of class.
“Outside of class was the hardest part of school for me. I don’t always know what to say to people, and I don’t like it when kids are running and shouting in the halls.
So being at school but not in class made me feel bad sometimes.
My friend Sebastian left after tenth grade.
I knew I’d have to be outside of class so much without him.
For two more years. Three hundred and sixty days.
Because New York requires 180 days of school a year.
So for two years of school, that’s 360 days.
I thought I wouldn’t ever be happy for any of those days. Not at school, not ever again.”
He looks up from his written speech and gazes out into the crowd. The vacant look in his eyes tells me he’s stuck on this
thought.
“Wouldn’t ever be happy,” he repeats aloud. “Not without Sebastian.”
The old me would have stood up or done some kind of signal to get Leo to move back to his prepared remarks, but I take a deep
breath and wait.
“Not happy without Sebastian, not at school,” he says again.
If the speech is going to be a disaster, so be it. At least he had the confidence to try, and I won’t undermine that by swooping
in to save the day.
But then he looks back down at the lectern and starts reading again.
“But then I made a new friend last summer. Her name is McKenna. She is very bossy, and I wasn’t sure if I liked her at first.
But she ended up teaching me new things and helping me make my life better, and since that also happened outside of class,
that’s what I’m going to tell you about in this speech.
“McKenna used to be on her college swim team. She is a very, very good swimmer. She got to go to school for free, which she
needed so she could get a degree to become a nurse. But then something very bad happened to her. Because of that thing, she
lost her scholarship, and also her home, and a lot of her friends.
“But she didn’t give up. She didn’t quit school.
Instead, she started working harder and kept doing all the things she needed to get her degree.
It turned out that the bad thing that happened to her wasn’t even her fault.
She says I’m the one who proved that to everyone.
She says I was brave and that being brave and kind makes me the hero in her story.
“What I’ve learned from helping her is that being able to do something better than everybody else isn’t what makes a person
a hero. Becoming a hero happens when you try as hard as you can, even when you’re worried the thing you’re trying for might
be impossible. It also happens when you believe in yourself even if nobody else does.”
He looks out into the crowd then, as though he’s just had an idea. Without referring to his notes, he says, “Or maybe all
you have to do to be a hero is try to always do what’s right and not quit just because something feels too hard.”
Yes! I want to jump up and start clapping, but I know there’s more left to his script.
“Last month, McKenna graduated, and now she has a job where she sits at a desk at a hospital. And once she passes her nursing
exam, she will start seeing patients just as she’s always wanted. She’ll be able to help more people, which means she can
keep being a hero too.
“My next piece of advice . . . Wait, what number am I on? Oh, right. Number three. Remember that success isn’t only about
never failing. And lastly, advice piece number four. This is the important one, which is why I saved it to say last, because
people like to put important things last in their speeches. Number four is that even if people don’t think you can do something,
try the hard things anyway. That’s how you become a hero too. So I guess what I’m saying is that all of us can be heroes.
You just have to try.
“Congratulations, class of 2025. The runway is open, the engines are ready, and we are cleared for takeoff!”