The trumpet
This week of June is a significant one. Two different graduation ceremonies happened, two days and three years apart. Both were moments of transition in my life.
I graduated from Public School 112 in Long Island City on Wednesday June 19th, 1996. Even if I was there for grades 2-5, my memories are scattered at best. I remember the trauma of having to be separated from my sister for the first time as we both went to Steppingstone Day School together and we’ve been on separate paths ever since. There was the spelling bee in third grade, where I was the representative for my class and I failed them miserably by blowing the first word, “Chimney”. Twenty years ago that summer brought the confluence of the Rangers Stanley Cup win, the Knicks getting to game 7 of the NBA Finals, the FIFA World Cup in the United States and the loss of two of my classmates from spina bifida in short order. Fifth grade brought me among other things, an end to all the sore throats and ear infections when my tonsils were taken out, the third of my volleyball trophies and the last gold medal of my athletic pursuits.
Most of my memories of Graduation Day 1996, weren’t of the ceremony itself, other than the black and white combination I wore on that day. Everything happened at the reunion afterwards. I tried to convince my dad to let me stay for the party later that afternoon but I had no luck. So, I had to call in my teacher, Ms.Seiden to help sway my dad and he let me stay. I did have fun that afternoon, even dancing to the Macarena. In my defense, my ten year old self didn’t know any better. As the last day of school came, two things were on the horizon, I was heading to Ecuador later that summer and I was having surgery on my right leg that September.
The trip to Ecuador coincided with the start of the 1996 Summer Olympics in Atlanta. My sister, mother and myself left a few days after the Olympics began. We were out of the country when Flight 800 and the Olympic Park bombings occured. We are also in the country to witness the only Olympic gold medal in Ecuador’s history. I don’t remember the exact date it happened but I remember it well.That morning, my mom and her mother were already in the living room of her mother’s house watching the 10KM race walk as Ecuador’s Jefferson Perez was among the competitors. By the time the race ended, the level of euphoria across the country was is as if Ecuador had won the World Cup. After the farewell party, our flight to New York landed in the wee hours of the Sunday of the closing ceremonies. We were going through customs at JFK and all of the food we brought back as it was fresh, was confiscated. I haven’t been back to Ecuador since this trip.
I would begin grades 6-8 at Louis Armstrong Middle School, within walking distance of where I live now in September 1996. In a common theme of my school years, I wasn’t enthusiastic about being there as I wanted to chart my own destiny away from everyone else but ended up there because it had all the services I needed. I would be in school for the first week, only. My surgery was on Wednesday September 11th, 1996. I recuperated at the New York Foundling Hospital for about six weeks before I returned to school toward the end of October. With a neon green walking cast on my right leg, it was tough sledding the rest of the first year. But I seemed to have made an impression on one teacher, Miss Izzo as I did really well in her class that year. This was the same person who during a field trip to the Museum of the American Indian, pulled off a full Pilgrim outfit with ease. She was the first person to help see the greatness within me that everyone else but me doesn’t see. The best year of the three was the 7th grade. It seemed like academically, I could do no wrong. I did so well that I was on both the Honor Roll and made Junior Arista. Senior year of middle school was a tougher year as I began the slow transition out of special education and was put in my first general education class, “mainstreamed”, if you will and I was slow out of the gate but recovered toward the end of the year.
But before graduation day, there was a matter of getting my yearbook. The picture of me taken was one where I overdid it on the smile. Everyone else liked the picture, but I deliberately hid my book from my parents nervous as to what they would think of it. And my worst fears were confirmed as they both hated my picture. An argument ensued between the three of us, as we wondered aloud if it was a smile or a grimace. After that moment, I hardly ever smiled for pictures. At last the day had come. Graduation Day was at the Colden Auditorium on Thursday, June 17th 1999, fifteen years ago today. On a cloudy Thursday at 4PM, I don’t remember much of this ceremony as it was a short ceremony. I didn’t go to school the next day as it was my sister’s graduation ceremony. We had to stay an extra week in school after the ceremony before the school year came to an end. I would end up in Summer School that year as I failed the 8th grade Math exam and got my first taste of independence as I went by bus to IS 145 every day by myself.
I ended up at Long Island City High School the following September, despite the fact that I didn’t apply to go there. I was originally accepted by John Bowne High School but for reasons of accessibility, it couldn’t happen. As my guidance counselor’s note read: “he’ll have everything he needs and have lots of friends”. I didn’t buy into that at the time but in time, I realized this decision was the best thing that could of happened to me.
For better and worse, the events that happened in these years shaped who I am now. The surgery that September didn’t take and it would be another five years before I would finally get relief from a difficult childhood. But the events left me wound up so tight, as I am to this day. Even when things looked their worst, I couldn’t give up on myself even if at times I wanted to. And the perseverance I had to build up now would serve me greatly going forward as even greater challenges loomed ahead. I’ve always wondered if you took away one of the events that happened, would I be a happier person or a less bitter and cynical one at the least. These moments still linger on, as time passes and memory slowly but surely fades away. Embracing the present and looking forward toward the future is that hardest thing I’ll ever do.
