Two weeks before graduation, my son told me he planned to do something that might cost him his friends, his father’s support, and his dignity in front of hundreds of people.
I begged him not to.
He only looked at me and said,
“Mom, I have to.”
The whispering began before Aaron even reached the principal.
Then came the giggles.
Someone behind me didn’t even bother speaking quietly.
“What is WRONG with that guy?”
My fingers tightened around the graduation program in my lap.
Aaron never flinched.
He continued across the stage in the red dress.
It fell just below his knees, the skirt swaying softly with every step. Beneath the auditorium lights, the fabric looked even brighter than it had at home.
Too bright, I thought.
Too noticeable.
Exactly what I had feared.
Aaron reached the principal, shook her hand, accepted his diploma, and turned toward an auditorium filled
with nearly six hundred people.
Some stared.
Some laughed.
Several students
