Before she died.
People around me didn’t know that.
All they saw was an eighteen-year-old boy walking across the graduation floor in a red dress while hundreds of phones slowly lifted into the air.
A boy two rows behind me whispered loudly,
“Dude, what is he doing?”
A woman near the aisle covered her mouth, but I could still see her laughing.
Someone else said,
“This has to be a joke.”
I wanted to stand up.
I wanted to turn around and tell every person in that gym exactly what they were laughing at.
But Eli had made me promise I wouldn’t.
So I stayed seated.
And watched my son keep walking.
His shoulders were straight.
His eyes remained fixed on the stage.
He didn’t look embarrassed.
