Fly Away Little Butterflies

Graduating from high school is an important milestone for young adults and their parents. One of my favorite principals, Cara Riggs, was blessed to reside over her daughter's graduation. She wished to make it special, so she ordered frozen butterflies to be released at the end of her graduation speech. We faculty sensed her excitement and anxiously looked forward to the big event.

I arrived at the auditorium and climbed to my station on the second level. I had a great view of the stage and waited patiently for the ceremony to begin. During the wait, I sent texts to colleagues seated throughout the audience. Our job consisted of welcoming families to graduation and supervising their behavior. We joked about the impossible task with memes and GIFS.

As a teacher, attending a long graduation ceremony can be as exhilarating as it is exhausting. I teach freshmen and sophomores, so I am filled with a blend of pride and anticipation thinking of my past students who will soon walk the stage on this special day. However, there is a peculiar discomfort sitting for hours in a crowded auditorium surrounded by families gathered to witness the cherished moment.

Finally, the function begins. Everyone stands to witness the students parading into the arena wearing red gowns with colorful stoles signifying their ranks and group affiliations. The atmosphere buzzes with a sense of accomplishment among the families who have gathered with their cameras poised to capture every cherished moment. As the students stand by their seats waiting for everyone to enter, I sense their nervous excitement. Once all graduates are seated, the speeches begin.

Although I recognize the years of hard work culminating in this single moment of recognition, the minutes stretch on for too long as speeches meander through heartfelt tributes and advice. Attendees leave their seats to purchase snacks and drinks from the open concession stands, and I half-heartedly scan my section for disruptions. Other than small children fussing, nothing needs my attention, so I allow my mind to wander.

Eventually, Cara takes center stage to deliver the speech we've been waiting for. She carries a bucket which she sets on a small stand next to the podium. I hope the moment lives up to her expectations as I stare at the butterfly container. I don't remember the exact speech, but it contained thoughts of students being humble caterpillars filled with potential as they navigated high school weaving through obstacles and absorbing knowledge. She ended the speech by proclaiming, "Go forth little butterflies to soar high! The sky is not the limit, but merely the beginning of your boundless horizons!"

Ms. Riggs picked up the container while whipping off the lid. A few pitiful monarchs lifted from the tub on weak, newly unfolded wings. Cara's face switched from joy to frustration as she peered into the canister full of partially frozen butterflies. She tossed the clump of bugs into the air hoping for a miracle, but they simply plopped onto the stage with a thump.

I sat frozen staring at the blob of butterfly carcasses. Under the stage lights, the frail monarchs dethawed and slowly took flight. The audience cheered and relief filled our principal's face.

Out of the corner of my eye, I spotted a bird swooping down from the rafters above. My initial laughter morphed into gasps of horror as the vibrant butterflies, once symbols of hope and transformation, floundered helplessly. The birds, sharp and swift, dove down with unforgiving precision, snatching the delicate creatures one by one. I desperately fought my desire to laugh and jotted a quick text to friends seated throughout the stadium. My phone vibrated with meme after meme depicting innocent graduates caught in the beaks of predators. My heart went out to my principal who appeared discouraged by the seeming failure of her speech.

As the last student walked across the stage, I saw a few butterflies soaring safely through the air. Perhaps Cara's speech wasn't a failure, but rather a powerful reminder. Much like the surviving butterflies, the graduates would need to embrace their struggles and support one another in order to rise above adversity.

I fondly remembered Cara’s speech after her recent passing. Her valiant fight against breast cancer began before that distant graduation. I watched her struggle through the years and exchanged encouraging messages to boost her spirits. Like the metaphor, Cara has escaped her cocoon; she has entered heaven as a beautiful butterfly without fear or doubt.