I was valedictorian. Me, Charlie Brennan, the kid who had punched a horse and hidden in closets and learned to be brave in increments too small to measure.
My speech was about change. About how Millbrook was changing, how I was changing, how the world was slowly, imperfectly, painfully changing. I didn't say I was gay in so many words. I didn't need to. Everyone knew. But I talked about authenticity. About honesty. About the courage it takes to be yourself when the world wants you to be someone else.
"Don't be afraid of who you are," I said, looking out at the sea of faces my parents, crying; Jesse, smiling; Dakota, giving me a thumbs up; Thunderclap the horse, who was somehow in the parking lot because Mrs. Henderson had brought him for some reason. "Don't be afraid of love, or difference, or the hard work of becoming. The world will try to tell you there's only one way to be happy. Don't believe it. There are infinite ways. Find yours."
Afterward, my father hugged me and said "I'm proud of you, son. Really proud." My mother said "you've grown into such a... such a remarkable young man." And Jesse kissed me in front of everyone, not caring about the rules, not caring about the consequences, just caring about me.