When I stepped up to the podium at graduation, I wasn’t planning to make anyone uncomfortable. I was supposed to talk about dreams and futures and inspirational quotes pulled from the internet. But as I looked out at the gym filled with classmates — some of the same people who had spent years laughing at my grandmother — something shifted….
When I stepped up to the podium at graduation, I wasn’t planning to make anyone uncomfortable. I was supposed to talk about dreams and futures and inspirational quotes pulled from the internet. But as I looked out at the gym filled with classmates — some of the same people who had spent years laughing at my grandmother — something shifted. My grandma, Lorraine, had worked in that very building as the cafeteria cook. To them, she was just “the lunch lady.” To me, she was the woman who raised me after my parents died, who kept the lights on, who packed my lunches with handwritten notes that said things like, “You’re my favorite miracle.” And suddenly, I knew the speech I had written wasn’t the one I needed to give.
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