MY 18-YEAR-OLD SON WALKED ACROSS HIS HIGH SCHOOL GRADUATION STAGE IN HIS LATE TWIN SISTER’S BRIGHT RED DRESS WHILE HUNDREDS OF PEOPLE LAUGHED. I HAD BEGGED HIM NOT TO WEAR IT. THEN HE WALKED STRAIGHT TOWARD ME, PULLED A DRIED YELLOW FLOWER FROM THE POCKET, AND SAID, “MOM… THIS IS WHY.”
The whispering started before Ethan Bennett had even reached the principal.
Then came the laughter.
Someone several rows behind me didn’t bother lowering his voice.
“What is WRONG with that guy?”
My fingers crushed the graduation program in my lap.
