My work was done and I sat down.
I had just delivered a brief commencement address (no one was in that room to hear me speak so I kept it fairly short). The plastic bottle touched my lips and water quenched my thirst.
And then I began to watch.
One by one, the Mississippi University for Women graduates crossed the stage in front of me. Black, white, tall, thin, short, every shape, size and color. Male and female — they all had one thing in common: They gripped their diplomas tightly. Cameras went off and parents and loved ones burst with joy.
I watched closely.
Their faces told stories. Some had big smiles on their faces. Others looked nervous — like their futures were in question. Twenty five years ago, mine was. I felt their angst.
There was pride on some of the faces. Some had come back to get degrees. They had the look of accomplishment that is hard to explain unless you’ve been there. This was a second chance. Or even a third. But all carried a dream in their hearts. A slight smile on the passing faces gave it away.
Within the distance of a small stage, the marchers’ lives changed. By the time they sat down again, they were college graduates.
I watched as they passed me.
I saw their pride. I felt it, too.