Ten Years Later

Chrissy takes hold of my hand, circling her long, graceful fingers into mine as she pulls me forward as she follows Millie into the auditorium.

“C’mon, Daddy,” she urges. “Let’s get to the good seats before this place fills up.”

I glance behind me. Dillon and Jordan have paused to speak with the high school football coach who’s anxious to hear all about Jordan’s plans for the coming year. Jordan played varsity football for the Abingdon Eagles for three years. By his senior year he was a starting quarterback and one of coach’s most promising prodigies. He might have gotten an athletic scholarship, but that wasn’t in Jordan’s plans.

Chrissy leads me down the crowded aisle near the front rows. She’s so excited she can barely contain herself. Her baby brother is graduating from high school, and she’s determined to have the best vantage point in this room to see it happen.

“Right here,” she says, pointing her grandmother toward the center seats in the middle block, just one row behind where the graduating seniors will sit as they wait for their names to be called and their chance to walk across that stage, receive their diplomas, and move the tassels on their mortar boards from the right to the left.

“I think you’re more excited about Joey than you were for your own graduation,” I observe, settling down beside her.

“I am,” she replies, crossing her legs, smoothing her pretty red dress. “And why not? I wasn’t the valedictorian, or the senior class president, or the president of the National Honor Society.”

“No,” my mom says, smiling at her granddaughter, taking her free hand. “You were the salutatorian, and the president of the art club, the Civinettes, and the Spanish club. You were also in the National Honor Society and the Key Club.”

“You did all right,” I add.

Chrissy cuts her eyes at me. “I did better than all right,” she states, squeezing my hand. “And you know it.”

“I do,” I admit. She made us proud. All three of them continue to make us proud.

“There you are!” Dillon calls from behind us. He leads Jordan down the row toward us. “I wondered where you three got off to.”

He settles into the folding chair beside me with Jordan to his left.

“Your daughter was in a hurry,” I reply. “Ready to fight for the good seats. I thought I should probably come with her and make sure she didn’t get in an altercation and get us all thrown out.”

Jordan laughs at my joke. “Wouldn’t be the first time,” he quips, winking at his sister. “You remember when I graduated, and she led the cheerleaders in that cheer right in the middle of the ceremony? I wanted to crawl under the podium and die.”

“You loved it!” Chrissy laughs. “You know you loved it!” She beams with pride over events that happened four years ago this very evening.

“Glad to see you here, Chief,” someone says from behind us.

We turn to see Ted McAuliffe, our old attorney, settling down in the seats behind us with his wife, son, and daughter in law.

“Hey Ted,” Dillon replies, reaching to shakes hands. “Your granddaughter is graduating tonight? Right?”

Ted nods. “Our oldest, Margaret,” he says. “Next year, her sister, and two years later, their brother.” He leans forward, patting Chrissy and Jordan on their shoulders. “I’m just glad the Manning-Chance’s are out of children, finally giving the rest of the town’s kids a shot at some superlatives.”

We laugh, but there’s an element of truth in what Ted says. Jordan, Chrissy, and now Joey have all three made us extremely proud. In high school they were top of their classes, active in clubs and sports, excelling at anything they put their minds to.

It didn’t start out so optimistically for them. There were fellow students, teachers, and administrators who tried to write them off because of who they were and what they came from. Dillon and I put everything we had into counteracting that early negativity by encouraging them every single day and giving them every advantage we could provide.

When they were still young, we managed to take a couple more Disney cruises, taking the kids to Alaska and England for extended, educational and adventure holidays. When they got older, our trips got more intense. We’ve toured museums and historic sights all over the country, from Revolutionary War battlefields to the Civil Rights Trail. We’ve climbed mountains and cycled around the Big Island of Hawaii, peering inside an active volcano.

Next week, we’re packing up and heading out west to the Grand Canyon. We’re doing an eighteen-day whitewater rafting trip down the Colorado River, with lots of side trips hiking Native American ruins inside the canyon. We’re all looking forward to this trip, but it’s bitter sweet in many ways. Jordan begins law school this fall at George Washington University in D.C. He’s already got an internship as a law clerk lined up for next summer. Chrissy, who’s a rising junior in fashion design at Virginia Commonwealth University in Richmond, is going to New York next summer for a two-month workshop at the Fashion Institute of Technology. Joey, who isn’t content to rest on his high school laurels, is heading to Duke University on a full academic scholarship for pre-medicine. Next summer, he’s going to Spain with a group of college-age volunteers working with Doctors Without Borders to assist with refugees fleeing the civil wars in eastern Europe and the Middle East.

This rafting adventure is probably our last family trip for a while. The kids are growing up, building their own lives. It’s hard to believe it’s Joey who’s leaving us now. Our baby wants to be a doctor. It seems like just yesterday he was sucking his thumb, snuggled between Dillon and me, afraid of bad dreams.

I don’t exactly know how we managed to raise such accomplished kids who are also such decent people, but clearly, we’ve done something right.

“Oh! Here they come!” Chrissy beams, bouncing in her seat.

The seniors, one-hundred fresh faced young people dressed in flowing robes and square caps, enter the auditorium in single file, taking their seats ahead of us. Behind us, the crowd finds their seats, quieting down.

Joey is the last senior to enter the auditorium taking his seat on the front row. He’s last because as valedictorian, he’ll be called forward shortly to make a speech to his fellow seniors and the thousand or so people here in attendance.

“Ya’ll didn’t save us a seat!”

Uncle Charlie, Aunt Nita, and Aunt Glynn crowd the people seated in the row behind us, filling in, making everyone scooch down so they can sit together.

“Trying to avoid the association,” Dillon laughs, standing up to spread hugs around to his relations. “Glad y’all made it. I wasn’t sure you’d be willing to leave the smoker long enough to come.”

Charlie and the Manning Holler crowd are hosting a graduation party for Joey and a large swath of the senior class after the ceremony. This is the fourth one they’ve done, and the parties have become something of tradition. Next year’s seniors are already bemoaning the fact that the last Chance-Manning has graduated Abingdon High. Next year, somebody else’s crazy relatives will have to step up.

Looking around as the auditorium lights dim, I spy Kathi and Griff slipping in, taking their seats near the back. Carrie and her daughter Gretchen are here too, seated with Gil Steele and his husband Kendall Vincent and their little girl, Ross. There are only a few unfamiliar faces in the crowd; mostly new people who’ve recently moved to Abingdon. The overwhelming majority are long-time friends, co-workers, folks we see regularly around town, along with the parents of our kid’s friends and classmates.

“There’s our boy,” Dillon speaks in a low voice after the Principal has said his piece, calling Joey to the head of the stage.

Joey looks just like Dillon. In a year or two, he’ll be just as tall, but already he’s got Dillon’s bright blue, mischievous eyes, his straw-colored, short-cropped hair, and an athletic build that’s the object of veneration of all the girls in school and at least some of the boys. He’s beautiful, but he’s also—like Dillon—an optimist in his heart. He’s the sweetest, happiest kid I’ve ever met. He doesn’t know a stranger, and he’s got a positive word for everyone he meets.

Standing at the podium, wrapped in his black robe, wearing the gold valedictorian stole around his neck, Joey silently scans the crowd for a moment, a wide smile brightening his face. A moment later his eyes settle, finding us—his family—seated front and center.

He nods, then turns his attention to his waiting audience.

“I must be the luckiest kid in the world,” Joey observes, his eyes scanning the crowd. He laughs nervously, shuffling note cards in his hands, looking down at them, then lifting his gaze to the crowd assembled before him. He takes a deep breath, proceeding.

“I had this speech prepared,” he says. “But looking out at all of you, I realize it’s not the right speech. I was going to say a bunch of cliché things about overcoming adversity and working hard, never letting go of your dreams no matter what anybody says or does to get in your way, but honestly, that’s a really easy thing to say when you’re me.”

He shifts his gaze back to us.

“I got great grades here at Abingdon High because my dads didn’t give me any other choice. They made sure I had everything I needed, every day, from waffles in the morning to books, to these awesome trips they always took us on. And my sister, she never let go of me. She was always dragging me along, making me catch up, keep up, but always breaking ground ahead of me. Just like my older brother Jordan, who made it pretty damn clear to anybody who tried to pick on the skinny little nerd with two last names, that if they crossed me, they were crossing him. If you know Jordan, you know that’s not a place you want to go.”

A rumble of laughter moves around the audience. Jordan squirms in his seat beside Dillon, shaking his head, a wry smile coloring his expression.

“I didn’t have any option except to succeed,” Joey says. “Too many people worked too hard to keep me safe, healthy, and give me every advantage. They gave me love, and kindness, and encouragement. My grandmother showed me how to leap and how to fall without cracking my head. My aunts Kathi and Griff taught me to love getting my hands dirty, how to do hard work and to reap the benefits of it, even if that just meant making a clean place for the goats to lay down. And my Uncle Charlie and all my Manning family taught me that it doesn’t matter how fancy your house or car is or isn’t. What matters is loyalty, love, generosity, and a whole hog smoked for two days, just because.”

The audience erupts in applause, expressing approval loudly with cat calls and shouts.

Joey smiles out at the crowd. “Of course, none of that would have ever been possible without my dads. We won the lottery when they decided to take in me, Jordan, and Chrissy. They didn’t plan us. We got tossed on them, because no one else wanted us. But they fought for us. Every single day. They loved us. Every single day. And they taught us that we do have options in this life. They taught us to be good to one another, and to ourselves, and to try to take that good out into the world to make it a better place.”

He smiles sheepishly, then looks up. “If I can offer only one thing to my fellow seniors tonight, it’s this; be the good you want to see in the world. Don’t settle for things as they are. Don’t write off as impossible the things you want to see made better. When you’re a kid, sometimes you think you can change the world. And you know what? You really can!”

Joey thanks the crowd, who jump to their feet in response, applauding, some of the senior’s cat-calling and whooping loudly.

“Wow,” Dillon whispers, slipping his hand inside mine, drawing it close to his belly. “How did we get such a wise kid?”

Both our hearts are bursting with pride.

I think I know the answer to Dillon’s question. It begins and ends with him and that day so long ago, when he was horsing around, washing trucks at the fire station. The day Gil walked up, and with just a few words, altered the course of Dillon’s life—and mine too.

In that moment, Dillon’s priorities shifted from being wholly consumed by his own minor gripes and diversions, to focusing his energy on making a home for three children who never knew what safety, comfort, or happiness felt like. We’ve raised them together, made sure they felt safe, and we’ve created a real home. Soon, we might be welcoming Kimmie into the fold. We have a small guest house on our property, and we’ve let her know she’s welcome whenever her parole comes through.

“It’s all you,” I whisper back to Dillon as the audience continues applauding our son. I wish his mom were here to see this today, but she’s told me time and time again she’ll be there when Joey and Chrissy graduate from college. And she’ll dance with Jordan at his wedding. Those thoughts have kept her clean and working hard to earn her associate’s degree while she’s finishing her sentence. We’re all crossing our fingers that she’ll be out very soon.

Dillon lifts my hand, pressing my knuckles to his lips, kissing them sweetly.

“Nope,” he says, tears misting his eyes. “These three kids, this family we’ve made, you made it work. You saved all of us. I knew it the second I saw you checking the kids over that day so long ago. I knew you were going to save us all. I really fell in love with you in that moment. I love you more every single day. Some days, I love you so much it almost hurts.”

“Now you’re just being sappy,” I say, pulling him into a hug. “And you know how much I love it when you get sappy.”

I hug my husband, holding him close. Lucky for us, we found one another just in time.

“Love you baby,” I whisper, burying my face in his neck, fighting tears of my own. “More than waffles or kittens.”

“That’s a lot,” Dillon cries, hugging me tight. “That’s a whole lot.”

It is, but it’s just a fraction of what he deserves.

“God, will you two get a room or something?” Jordan teases, rolling his eyes to the lofting ceiling overhead. “You’d think as old as you are, the glow would have burned off by now.”

“Not by a long shot,” Dillon replies, hugging me tight, then pulling back to address his son with a laugh. “You should be so lucky. You just wait ‘til you three are out of our hair. You think this is embarrassing? We’re gonna set this planet on fire. Me and Jack are still so hot, we’re gonna finish the job of melting the polar ice caps. Try to keep up.”

“God have mercy,” Jordan sighs. “You two are incorrigible.”

“Son,” I say, smirking at him. “You don’t even know the half of it.”

Dillon’s eyes meet mine, flashing mischievously. “Let’s hope not,” he replies. “Let’s not give him any ideas.”

“Too late for that,” Chrissy chirps. “We’re thoroughly corrupted. We’re the only kids we know whose parents are still together, still like each other, and still stupid in love. It’s completely un-American. You’re ruined us with all these high expectations.”

It’s true. We’ve done all right.

We could have done a whole lot worse.

* * *