My daughter brought a cardboard boy to graduation, and her classmates laughed. Even the principal threatened to stop her from graduating. But when Emma handed him a folded letter, his expression suddenly changed.
“Emma, please tell me you’re not taking that thing to graduation.”
My daughter stood before the hallway mirror, straightening a blue graduation cap on a life-size cardboard cutout of a teenage boy.
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“His cap is crooked, Mom.”
“Emma, I’m serious.”
“So am I.”
She adjusted the matching gown and stepped back. For a moment, she smiled. Then she turned toward me, her eyes shining.
“Mom, promise me you won’t tell anyone,” she whispered. “I need to do this myself.”
I wanted to argue. I knew how cruel teenagers could be when someone did something they didn’t understand.
But I knew why she’d made that cardboard boy.
