Dad seems more relieved than I am to have the whole thing settled. He is now deep into planning a family summer vacation to Ireland for the four of us. I did some online research to see what I might be interested in doing there, and I found a couple marine ecotourism outfits to check out. That would be a fun job.
Since Chief arrived at Stone Creek, senior pre-graduation activities have been planned by students. The senior class president, me, forms a planning committee to decide what day-long special activity we want to do for the senior class, typically something like a water park. The committee also needs to decide senior activities the four days before graduation—sometimes things like a talent show, although the graduating class the first year Chief was here actually decided not to come to school for some of those days. Seems like they were into the “freedom from” mentality Ms. Jordan talks about.
The closer we get to the end, the more I want to make the most of every minute, particularly spending time with people I’ve come to know, getting to know other seniors better, before it’s too late and we all part. Since many of us will also be leaving the community, at least for a while, I think we ought to go out with a bang, give the community something to remember us by. And it’s my responsibility, as senior class president, to lead the effort.
At our first planning committee meeting, I get a wake-up call. People on the committee quickly come to agreement that planning a senior activity day and last week of school senior activities pales in comparison to what they want: a non-traditional graduation ceremony. No monkey suits and boring speeches. Gulp, seems pretty radical to me—that’s my first thought. But my second reaction is to ask myself what Chief would do in my shoes.
The group discussion so far has focused on trashing the usual graduation ceremonies, with some pretty wild alternative ideas getting thrown out.
“Okay, guys, I get what you don’t want,” I say. “Let’s focus on what you do want. We’re going to have to convince Chief and parents what we want to do. So let’s come up with some real ideas.”
Further committee discussion focuses on a few main conclusions:
• We want to do stuff to show our parents and community we deserve to receive the official sanction of adulthood.
• We will create small groups around interest themes for student presentations at graduation.
• We will use the week after senior tests and before graduation for the small groups to plan details and practice presentations.
“These are great ideas for our graduation ceremony,” I say when the list is complete. “The more we talk, though, the more I realize the whole senior class needs to approve what we’ve come up with. After all, it’s their graduation, too.”
When we present our recommendation, we hear lots of positive feedback. Comments like, “It sounds like a whole senior class talent show for our parents.”
Then people start asking each other questions that don’t seem to have an answer, like “How will the interest groups be formed?” and a shift in mood occurs.
I hesitate, not knowing what to say. We didn’t think that out in our committee.
Another person jumps in. “Weren’t y’all supposed to plan our senior activity day? What about ideas for that?”
“We focused on graduation and didn’t get to senior activity day,” I say. “Do other people on the planning committee want to answer these questions?”
No response. I’m in the center of this mess alone.
“I suggest a student-parent meeting for students to present an alternative idea for your graduation ceremony,” Chief pipes up. “Any students who are not speaking up now but would prefer a traditional ceremony can attend the meeting and speak to their preference. Graduation is extremely important to family after all the years of support they’ve provided to you. They deserve a chance to consider any change.”
Even though nobody is expressing disagreement with the graduation ceremony idea, the lack of forethought by our committee is causing general restlessness and twinges of anger in the crowd.
Daniel is in reporter mode, walking around with a notepad and a camera around his neck. He comes over to me and whispers in my ear, “Form three more groups so the agitators can get in on the action.”
Of course! Wish I could think on my feet as easily as he does.
“I propose we solicit volunteers from among everyone here to come up with a process for forming the small performance groups based on themes of interest,” I say. “Second, other volunteers who want to make decisions about our senior activity day can come up with where we go and what we do. Last, some of you can commit to attend the parent meeting and speak for our graduation ceremony proposal. Those of you who disagree will also commit to attend the parent meeting and speak up. Agreed?”
Thank goodness there is finger snapping and not booing.
I find Daniel at the end of first period. “Hey, man, you saved my ass,” I say. “Thank you.”
“You would have thought of the idea later. A little later? Much later?” His last question barely audible as his words drift over into giggling.
My reply is a hard fist pop to his left bicep.
I go to each of the subgroup meetings, and I think it’s going to take a lot of my time and energy—but not so. Right away, the groups form their own structure for working together and I become a resource person, not a director, modeling our teachers! I guess this thing wasn’t entirely my responsibility as president after all. Just like teachers can’t make us learn things, my job as class president is to encourage fresh ideas and let my fellow seniors organize in a way to make it happen. I’m still learning. It’s not my show, just like it’s not Chief’s show. I bet he gets nervous like me, worrying whether graduation will come off well.
I am reassured when I attend the theme groups planning meeting, hearing all the creativity and excitement flying around. I also overhear several students make comments like, “I didn’t get what Sean and the planning group meant, so I was kinda against the idea. But now I’m loving it.”
In the end, it’s decided that senior activity day will consist of an end-of-year field day at the two local middle schools. It’s something a lot of seniors remember as being the highlight of middle school—but they also remember thinking they could have done a better job of planning the fun. Now’s their chance. Of course, I wasn’t here then, so I have little to contribute.
The big test is the meeting with parents about the graduation ceremony. A lot of parents show up since they have learned any meeting called by Chief will have meaningful decision-making involved. Sprinkled among the parents are a few students who are presumably for a traditional approach, since they are not sitting with the large group of seniors here to present the alternative graduation ceremony idea. Chief has asked his friend, Pastor Moore, to facilitate the meeting.
I’m standing at the back of the meeting room, too nervous to sit down. I think it is more nerve racking to have to just listen to a debate over something you really care about than to be able to speak up. I don’t think I would have thought that a couple of years ago. I would have preferred silence.
The first issue, thrown out by a dad, is, “What will an alternative graduation do for the reputation of this school among colleges?”
A student looks around to the group to nonverbally ask to address that concern. She stands and says, “First, thanks to everyone for coming and taking our proposal seriously. My understanding is that college administrators are concerned about student performance in high school as reported by teachers and then student performance at the college as reported by professors. I would be surprised if a college even bothered to inquire about the graduation ceremonies of individual high schools. But if they did, I believe they would view what we’ve planned as a creative initiative, and I think you will also.”
Another student asks Ms. Hoffmann to speak to the dad’s concern. She says, “I believe the previous comment about college perspective is accurate, and I’ll also add that based on rumors I’ve heard
, I can’t wait to see the performances.”
A first step success; many parents in the meeting room clap in support of Ms. Hoffmann’s statement.
A mom says, “All our relatives are coming from far away to see my child graduate. It’s a big deal to us.”
A guy I recognize as a lead actor in many of Stone Creek’s drama performances stands to respond. “I think you will be proud to show your relatives the level of student ability in this school. We are not taking this challenge lightly and are not aiming to be silly. We have already put in a great deal of effort during non-school hours and plan to put in a lot more to deliver polished performances.”
A parent in the audience yells out, “I can vouch for the work they’re putting in, gathered at all hours in my basement.”
A student sitting with her parents stands and says, “We only get to do this once in our life, so I want a lot of the extras, like nice graduation announcements and a picture of me on the mantle at home in a cap and gown like my brothers.”
An art whiz student jumps up. “I have already made personal graduation announcements to send out. They look very professional and are specific to our school, with a photo on the front. I would be happy to share my design, and to come up with other designs, and it is simple and cheap to get them printed.”
Another student says, “That’s a good thought, about a graduation photograph. We could have traditional caps and gowns available for photos before and after graduation. And I know a professional photographer who would probably agree to be here too. Parents could ask for what they want.”
With all this good input, our ceremony can be even more awesome than we were thinking.
The mood in the room is changing from tense to more relaxed problem solving. Still, there is a detectable uneasiness in the air.
Cora—who else—says, “I suggest we try out an alternative graduation ceremony for this year since this year’s seniors are so committed to the idea. It doesn’t have to be a permanent, for all time, decision.” She’s told me before that this is another principle of conflict resolution decisions: because people fear forever obligations, thinking what if they make a mistake, it is better to make short-term decisions with evaluation built in.
As the tension eases, Pastor Moore asks for a show of hands regarding Cora’s suggestion. Her proposal is accepted. I feel the exhilaration of validation, almost like this meeting is our real rite of passage, and looking around the room, I can tell a lot of my fellow seniors feel the same way.
CHELSEA
It’s end of the second semester of my sophomore year of college. I’ve amassed mostly required credits and gotten sufficient, if not spectacular, grades. I feel like I’m about a half centimeter emerged from a cocoon, coaxed that far out by my psychology professor. It all started when I mentioned my whirling dervish training and how the turning helps me center my awareness on me, but a me without boundaries that separate me off from what’s out there. Somehow we get to talking about my high school and I told her about my names, first “Country Girl” and then “Listener.”
She laughed and said, “Sounds like you have a calling to be a therapist.”
I told her about Adrian and how far off I was from being present, off doing backpack interviews. She was a good listener as I talked about Adrian and the impact his death had on me.
“Sounds like a wakeup call for you, one that you’re still not sure what to do with,” she observed.
After uncomfortable silence—I wasn’t sure how to respond—she asked about the backpack research I did, saying it was a unique approach to capturing an important stage in adolescent development. “Why don’t you do an update interview, two years later, and listen to what they say about their lives now?” she suggested.
“You think that would reveal anything?” I asked. I was thinking, Reveal something about them or me? Is she thinking I’m a mess? It didn’t seem like it. She seemed so easily open, whereas I still second-guess myself a lot.
“You won’t know until you ask,” she said.
Talking with her like this struck me as a 180-degree difference from my experiences at Hilltop, and the many messages I received there that nothing I thought or did was real. Last summer with Jake was the first time I received confirmation that what was inside me as a child was real. Sure, college is supposed to be different from high school in this way, but why does high school say they are preparing us for college if it took me two wasted years to be open to what college has to offer?
The more I think about re-interviewing the students I talked to two years ago, the more exciting it becomes. But I decide I’m not going to try to find the Stone Creek students. I didn’t know them, and it would seem weird to ask them to meet at a coffee shop or something. Besides, Stone Creek probably has rules about giving out confidential information like people’s home addresses or telephone numbers.
So, first stop, Hilltop Academy to see Ms. Carter. Hugs, of course, then a tear in her eye where the footprint used to be. Maybe I just imagine that. After I ask how she is doing, and receive reassurance she is okay, I ask, “Why did Adrian commit suicide?”
“I knew you’d be back someday to ask,” she says. “I almost told you when you came by last spring, but you seem much stronger now, like things are going better for you. It’s a hard story to hear and live with, but I believe in truth, as soon as someone is ready to handle it.”
“I think I’m ready,” I say, bracing myself.
Ms. Carter nods. “Well, first of all, the gun Adrian brought to school was not a real one, but it did look very real. He achieved his objective in frightening the three bullies who had been bothering him, and who in that last month had escalated their taunting and shaming. One of the boys, the son of the college president of one of the Hilltop sponsors, calls home, terrified, after the incident. The principal gets a call from the boy’s father and searches Adrian’s backpack. He finds the toy gun, and suspends Adrian, threatening that if he says anything about the incident, Adrian’s father could lose his job at the college. Rumors start flying around about a student bringing a gun to school, and the principal quickly institutes the backpack search policy to show precautions are being taken, even though there was never a real gun to begin with.”
“So it was all the principal’s fault,” I say.
“No,” Ms. Carter says. “Because the story doesn’t end there. What happens next is, the two college presidents meet with Adrian’s parents, apologize for the handling of the situation by the principal, and say they are willing to force him to retire. They also offer to pay Adrian’s tuition at a private high school in an adjoining town that provides daily van transportation. They pitch this as an opportunity for Adrian to start fresh and remind Adrian’s father of his professor employee benefit for college financial assistance for Adrian—assuming a suitable resolution of this incident.”
“That is so mean, Ms. Carter.”
“Yes, very mean. Adrian’s mother, who told me all of this, objected to Adrian having to make a major change in his life while the bullies got off with no punishment. The presidents responded there was no proof of bullying and Adrian had never made any accusations. A private attorney confirmed to Adrian’s parents it would be hard to prove there was bullying.”
“So that’s why Adrian did it? Because he was upset that after what those other kids did, he was the one being forced to change schools?”
Ms. Carter shakes her head. “Like Adrian’s mother, I do not believe he committed suicide.”
My mouth drops open. “You don’t?”
“I don’t,” she says firmly. “I guess we’ll never know what really happened up on that trail, but I do know that months earlier, Adrian had been questioning his sexual identity—things like his hatred of violence, which he thought was a feminine trait. His psychiatrist helped him understand that was a cultural definition, not a biological one. After that, Adrian actually got happier and excited the world was more complex and there were lots of gender choices of how to be. He
was upset about moving schools, though. He felt that nobody was standing up for him and it would be just the same at a new school.”
I think he was probably right; chances are, transferring would not likely have gotten him to a better place. My renewed grieving for Adrian follows my former pattern of anger.
“The new principal this year was informed last week that Hilltop Academy is done. Attorneys of the two colleges decided there were too many liability issues in running a high school, and advised the colleges to close it at the end of this spring term. How about that?”
Seething, I say, “So the public never knows the truth of Adrian’s death linked to being bullied. And the schools are not held accountable as petri dishes for growing bullies, hatefulness, and ignorance. The pyramid tomb of Hilltop Academy will live as a scar inside survivors who all knew, even if they did not want to talk about it, what was going on.” I sigh. “At least the next generation can grow up at Stone Creek.”
I tell Ms. Carter I need to sort through how all this affects my view of life. I still think it might help to re-interview the three students in my graduating class. I ask her to provide contact information for them.
All three students I reach out to graciously agree to a re-interview, this time with no scripted questions, just a natural conversation. This is what they tell me:
Glitz Queen
“Immediately after graduation my boyfriend joined the Air Force. He had been talking about it for years, so it wasn’t a surprise. But, in a way it was, because I had not thought through the reality of what that meant, my dreams being put on hold and all. He has loved being in the Air Force, learned a lot, and plans to go to college to study engineering. Funny, when I first met him, we were both juniors and bonded over hating school, this small town, and wanting to get away. The difference being, I was thinking getting away together and he, in the end, not so much. His senior year at Stone Creek, life really started changing under the new principal. He began taking himself more seriously, trying to figure out what he wanted to do with his life. Before it was just, like, go into the military to be supported and get away. His Counselor at Stone Creek got him to think, ‘Okay, so what do you want to do in the military?’ He had always loved toys like remote control cars, rockets, etc., along with his brothers. His last year at Stone Creek, he got into robotics and figured he could follow up in the Air Force. He hasn’t gotten to do as much learning as he hoped, but now they will pay for college so he can do engineering.”
School Tales Page 29