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.
He didn’t look angry.
If anything, he looked calmer than I did.
When the principal called his name, Eli climbed the steps, shook his hand, accepted his diploma, and turned toward the audience.
