Graduation Party Speech: What a Parent Can Say

Hello, everyone. Thank you so much for being here today. I'm Lena, Jordan's mom, and looking around this yard, I see so many of the people who helped get him here. That means a lot to both of us.

Let me tell you a little about my son.

Jordan is quiet in a crowd. If you're waiting for him to take over the room, you'll be waiting a long time. But if something breaks, he's the first one there. A bike chain. A neighbor's fence. His little sister's science project. He doesn't make a speech about it. He just shows up with whatever tool he needs.

He's patient. He's also a little stubborn, and I say that with love. And he's funny in a dry way that you only catch if you're paying attention. Some of you just laughed, so you know what I mean. He also still eats cereal standing up over the sink. Eighteen years of chairs, and he's not interested.

Jordan has been fixing things for as long as I can remember. When he was seven, he took apart our toaster to see how it worked. He could not put it back together. So he saved his allowance for two months and bought us a new toaster. And he kept the old parts in a shoebox labeled "Toaster, unfinished."

That shoebox tells you a lot about him. He's curious. He owns his mistakes. And he doesn't consider a job truly finished until he's made it right.

Last winter, during the ice storm, the power went out and it was bitterly cold. Jordan took his uncle's generator and spent two days going house to house on our street. He made sure our older neighbors could keep their heat on. Nobody asked him to. He just saw a need and went to work.

Now, none of this came easy. Jordan has dyslexia, and reading was hard for him from day one. School asked him to do the very thing that felt hardest, every single day. He didn't quit. He worked with a tutor twice a week for six years. Six years. Then, in his junior year, he passed his welding certification exam on the first try.

And this past year, on top of classes, he worked twenty hours a week at Delgado's Hardware. That's a lot for a senior. He did it anyway.

I have some thank-yous, because Jordan didn't do this alone. To his grandparents, Mae and Walter: you drove him to tutoring for years. Rain, snow, and every ordinary Tuesday. Thank you. To Mr. Haskins, his shop teacher: you saw what Jordan could do with his hands and gave him room to do it. And to Mr. Delgado, who gave Jordan his first job and is here today: thank you for trusting him.

And what's next? In August, Jordan starts the welding and fabrication program at the technical college. Delgado's is keeping him on part-time, too. So he'll be building his future, one solid seam at a time.

Jordan, I want to talk to you now.

I'm so proud of you. I'm proud of the grades and the certificate, but even more of how you got here. You kept showing up, even when it was hard. Your dad would be proud of you too. I know he would.

My wish for you is simple. Keep fixing things. Fix engines, fences, and anything else that needs it. And keep asking for help when you need it. Please remember that. Asking for help is not a weakness. It is how you got here. Look around this yard. Every one of these people is proof.

You once left a shoebox labeled "Toaster, unfinished." Well, today I can tell you this. You are not unfinished, and you never will be, because you keep growing. But you are ready.

So, everyone, please join me.

(Raise your glass)

To Jordan. Congratulations, sweetheart. We love you, and we can't wait to see what you build.

Good evening, everyone. Thank you all for coming. For those who don't know me, I'm Kwame, Abena's dad. And yes, I'm the one she checks on before I leave the house.

I especially want to thank Abena's mother, Efua, who made all of this possible. And thank you to the aunties who drove in from Atlanta. You didn't have to come this far, but we are so glad you did.

Let me tell you about Abena. She is organized to the point of scary. She had a color-coded calendar in fourth grade. Fourth grade! I was still trying to find my shoes. She is bossy, but in the best way. If there is a crisis, Abena takes charge. And she has never once let me leave the house without checking that the stove is off. Never once.

She was born to be a nurse. When she was nine, her little brother fell off the swing set. Abena looked at his arm and diagnosed it as broken. She splinted it with a ruler and a dish towel. Then she made me drive to urgent care. It was a sprain. She still says she was being thorough. And honestly, she was.

She worked for this, too. All through nursing school, she worked twenty-four hours a week as a patient care tech. She did her clinical rotations on the night shift at a children's hospital. And every morning at 7 a.m., my phone rang. It was Abena, calling to complain about the vending machine. I learned a lot about that vending machine. Then last month, she passed her licensing exam.

In July, she starts as a pediatric nurse at a children's hospital in Columbus. She's also moving into her first apartment. I'm told it's already labeled. I'm not surprised. I only hope there's a label on the stove.

Abena, my wish for you is simple. Take care of yourself the way you take care of everyone else. And please, eat something besides vending machine crackers.

We are so proud of you. Those children in Columbus are lucky to have you.

(Raise your glass)

Everyone, please join me in a toast to Abena, our nurse. Congratulations!