The Graduate

We looked in amazement at the program. Page after page, column after column of names were listed. A few had collections of symbols to the right indicating honors bestowed upon that individual. It was the alphabetical listing of the graduating class of 2004. 1

A quick count down one column, a count of columns, and a little arithmetic in my head told me we had just over one thousand names to get through after the speeches ended. 2

“One Thousand!” I complained in my head. “We might be here all night.” 3

I looked around. This large basketball arena was filled to the rafters with parents, grandparents, distant relatives and friends of those who sat as a sea of red robes and caps in the perfectly aligned folding chairs on the gymnasium floor before us. Every face in this arena was here to cheer when a name was announced, but only one or two - three at the most. The rest were unknown to that family. Protocol dictated that we must sit politely, but this would be a long evening.4

I was relieved when I realized that not everyone in the twenty two seats on stage was going to give a speech. However; the speeches that were given were long and heavily burdened with the same clichés and catch phrases I had heard in the last twenty or so graduations I had attended – “new beginning,” “no limit”, “leaders of tomorrow,” and on down the list. Still, this was their night. They had earned it. I would not deny it to them.5

When the speeches finally ended, a stir broke through the crowd. It was as if suddenly everyone could breathe again. Now, it was finally acceptable to adjust in one’s seat. The stir grew to a murmur as groups seated together began to voice some excitement; ready cameras and air horns; and point to areas where that one name they anticipated now sat.6

The graduates began to rise, and move toward the stage – one row at a time, one column from each side of the stage so that names could be called more quickly. However; the graduates were halted about 20 feet from the ramp. About a dozen students in wheelchairs were moved to the front of the line from each side of the stage. Maneuvering them to the ramp over the myriad of obstacles was no easy task, but at last, their columns reached their appointed posts.7

The men standing at the podiums on opposite sides of the stage began calling names – slowly at first to give those in wheelchairs ample time to proceed across the stage and receive the red and white display case that would soon hold their diplomas.8

When the last of the wheel chairs rolled down the ramp, the cadence of names quickened. Air horns sounded from various parts of the stadium at certain names. Hoots and screams of congratulations punctuated the even rhythm and clear enunciation as gowned graduates proudly strode across the stage.9

A stir along one side of the rows of chairs caught my attention. Those awaiting their turn to march across stage politely moved to the side as someone made their way against the grain next to the stands toward the rear exit. I could see the graduates moving, but what prompted them?10

I leaned forward in my closely guarded front row seat and looked down to the floor. The last red gowned line occupant stepped to his left. A wheelchair appeared between him and the wall and proceeded on toward the back, pushed by a short, stout, sandy haired woman that I guessed to be in her mid forties. 11

I watched closely. The wheelchair occupant seemed to jerk and bounce. Her head rolled uncontrollably from side to side leaving her graduation cap fallen empty back onto the back of her chair, and mussing her dark hair across her forehead and cheeks.12

I squeezed my wife’s hand and nodded toward the oncoming one person vehicle. She looked along with me. I noticed the girl’s arms drawn up toward her in a manner I had, rightly or wrongly, always associated with cerebral palsy, but there was more than just palsy. As her carriage drew closer, I could see the special support along one side where a small green oxygen tank was secured. A thin clear hose ran up the side of the chair, around its occupant’s head and fastened just below her nose. I could no longer hazard a guess as to what all afflicted this girl.13

Her mother’s face was red, puffed and swollen from a combination of pride and tears. She smiled and cried at the same time as she continued with her daughter along the edge of the seats.14

The announcers continued to call the names of those crossing the stage and the crowd continued to noise their celebration, but the voice of the girl in the wheelchair became clearer as her mother continued to slowly push her in our direction. It was a strange sound. At first I thought she might be hurt - it almost sounded like she was sobbing, but her mother continued her calm procession – never rattled, never panicked, never hurried.15

A few feet more and I began to better distinguish the sound as well as the face. Her head continued to roll side to side as she squealed. Her smile was as wide as she could stretch it. Her face was reddened with unrestrained joy which exploded from within her. She continued to jerk and twitch her hands.16

Now I began to understand. This strange motion was not a palsied seizure as I first thought. No, this was a dance of celebration. She continued to “leap” and pirouette with every part of her body that would answer her request for motion – but not much could so answer.17

Pride continued to shine from the one behind her – perhaps the only one besides the occupant of the chair herself who knew the real trials and frustrations that had led up to this day. No doubt while most high school students complained of having to write an essay, this girl dealt with the frustration of hands that shook and fingers which struggled to wrap around a pencil as she set about her writing assignments. While others her age sighed and complained that algebra was hard she exerted great effort to hold her head erect and read her math assignments. While other teens complained of not being able to go out that night, she was restricted with the chains of oxygen tubes that she needed to be able to draw her next precious breath. While other students worried about boyfriends and complained about their lives being ruined by a gossiping friend, she sat with the only real friend she had ever known – the one who now pushed her wheelchair. All these things she faced, but on commencement night, here she was with her classmates – most of whom did not even know her name.18

Those crooked palsied hands for which no one would ever ask in marriage held her prize. It was the symbol of her perseverance through all these years of struggles. It was her medal of honor for a courage most will not learn in a long lifetime. It was the hard sought trophy proclaiming to all who would see that the only long term goal she might ever set in her life was successfully met. It was her hard earned diploma case. 19

Her voice was strained, and difficult to understand, but I could make out the excited words she repeated between her unsubdued and gleeful squeals, laughs and snorts: “I did it mama! … I did it mama! ...”20

Suddenly, I became aware that the section where I sat was completely silent. Every eye was fixed on the wheelchair now passing before us. Not a single face was dry. Not a single mouth could speak.21

Perhaps protocols must be followed, and perhaps because of the ecstatic celebrations of this little lady her mother felt it necessary to remove her from among the other graduates, but this supportive lady would do nothing to restrain or hush the uninhibited happiness of her little girl – she had earned that celebration more than anyone else in the procession. Nobody here would have objected if she wanted to stay, dance, and celebrate where she was. Truth be told we might have celebrated with her as soon as we could find our voices again.22

A smattering of applause broke out among those in the seats around us as we realized what was unfolding before us, but still not a one of us could speak. The mother’s smile widened more as she nodded to us in acknowledgement.23

“I did it mama! … I did it mama! …” the girl in the wheelchair continued between her joyous squeals.24

A fellow just beside me dried his eyes on his sleeves, found his voice and spoke – too quietly to be heard by our wheelchair bound hero, but all in our little section could hear. They were the only words any of us could think to say – the words all of us wanted to say, but at this moment only one among us had a voice: “You sure did, young lady. You sure did! Congratulations!”25