One last hurdle

Lately Jeffrey Many’s mom has been trying on nicknames.

“The graduate is home,” she’ll say as he walks in the door. “How is the valedictorian doing?” she’ll ask, sometimes shortening it to “Number One.”

He’s a big deal at home, where “Congratulations, Graduate!” banners hang from ceiling fans, lamps and curtain rods. But when the valedictorian wakes up on graduation day, a little groggy from a lack of sleep, he is not in his room where the walls are plastered by baseball, football and hockey pennants — flags of a childhood he’s decided he’s now too old for.

His graduation robe is there along with the mortar board, waiting for him mark this milestone, to cross the stage and move his tassel from the left to right.

On this morning, though, on the biggest day of his academic career, the valedictorian finds himself on a rollaway bed in a space just off the kitchen.

Jeffrey Many may have the highest grade point average at Golden Gate High and be just hours away from leading 235 students into their futures, but today he is still a kid, like thousands of others who give up their room when grandparents come to town.

The valedictorian doesn’t mind. Grandma Betty’s come a long way to watch him cross this threshold. He’s a humble young man and besides, Grandpa Fred has taken his little brother’s room. Many swings his legs over the edge of the bed and heads off to high school one last morning.

Practicing commencement

Before they can commence the rest of their lives, the senior class of Golden Gate High has to clear one last hurdle. They’ve passed their exams and earned their credits, but they will not be set free until they’ve convinced their teachers they can walk down the aisle and put on a good show.

It’s the last time these teachers and principals will have any power over them, and everyone knows it, so the senior class shows up at 7:30 a.m. for graduation practice and is gracious to their educators’ whims one last time.

Many and salutatorian Heather Benton lead the class across campus from the auditorium to the gym. They pass through the courtyard where a handful of underclassmen can do nothing but stare at the awe of it all. You can almost hear the juniors and sophomores whisper: graduating.

Benton drinks the attention in like water, but Many, modest and shy, barely cracks a smile.

“Smell me,” a sprite-like Margarita De Jesus says, fluffing her mane and cocking her head just a little toward him.

“It’s Garnier Fructis,” she says, practically effervescing, and Many takes a timid lean in for a whiff. He may be shy, but when a pretty girl says, “smell my hair,” he does.

He has sandy blonde hair and for anyone who’s penetrated the wall of modesty, the kind of deep blue eyes that sparkle as if the irises themselves were faceted diamonds.

The fun park

On the day Many finished his final exams, a group of Golden Gate students descended on the nearby McDonald’s and then decided they should do something fun every day for the next week. One last fling before getting on with the business of growing up: starting summer jobs and going off to college.

They went to the beach on Thursday, mapped out which parties they’d attend Saturday and Sunday, planned a Busch Gardens trip for the following week. So for graduation day they decided to keep it small and go to King Richard’s Fun Park after graduation practice.

Ming Jiang and Daniel Elizondo pile into Many’s car, where a Class of ‘06 tassel already hangs from the rearview mirror. Elizondo, who’s riding shotgun, calls a girl to see if she wants to come along.

“I gotta do my hair,” the girl answers, and Elizondo, if he’s disappointed, hides it well. He’s a good-looking kid, with that cool, calm demeanor that masks the fact that he’s an honors student himself, planning to major in aerospace engineering. A spectacular feat considering Elizondo has attended six different high schools between Naples and Washington state.

In the back seat, even more quiet than Many, who’s car radio plays hip-hop at a respectable volume, is Ming Jiang, a tall, gangly student who answers questions in heavily-accented English.

They walk into King Richard’s to find they are the first high schoolers there. Middle school kids on a field trip litter the place and the guys look around a bit sheepishly before heading out the back to see if maybe someone’s out on the go-cart track.

Nope. Not yet. They stroll past the kids’ rides, making their way to the back of the park, to the batting cages where they giggle at the painfully slow 15 mile-per-hour pitches. At the other end are the machines pitching at 90 mph.

Slam, the ball pounds into the padding at the back of the cage. They study it for a while. Thinking about it. Mostly, they’re killing time. Waiting for the others to show up.

“Dude, I don’t know about that,” Elizondo says as a ball whizzes from the mechanical pitching arm. No one steps forward to give it a try. Thud, another strike pounds the padding. Ninety miles per hour is pretty fast. And hard.

But Elizondo cannot resist the challenge. He picks up a bat and helmet and steps into the cage. He pushes up the sleeve of his baggy shirt to reveal a slim, but chiseled arm. He’s small and wiry, but it’s clear every ounce he does have is pure muscle.

He has fast hands, but not fast enough, as every pitch slides past him. He has a good swing. Total follow-through on a low to high arc.

He goes down. But he goes down looking good.

“Dude, that thing’s too fast!” he says, stepping out of the cage and removing the helmet. Neither Many nor Jiang give him a hard time. Nor do they step in for their turn.

They look around. They’re still the only big kids here. Many’s grandparents have called, saying they want to take him to lunch, so the boys amble over to the go-carts and take their spin. Standing in line they suddenly turn self-conscious.

They walk — they do not run — to the carts and squeeze their frames into the little vehicles. Many and Elizondo try not to smile. They try to maintain a cool sense of detachment. Jiang wrestles with his seat belt. All three fail to suppress a smile as they hit the gas. They’re young men, but still not too old to enjoy a go-cart ride.

They emerge from the go-carts and return to their more mature, slow-moving selves, leaving the park as if they’ve checked another item off their list.

Took exams: Check.

Practiced graduation ceremony: Check.

Had fun on Friday: Check.

Lunch with Grandma Betty and Grandpa Frank

Conversation at lunch gradually turns scholastic. Many talks about his scholarship to the University of South Florida. He chose it over his scholarship at the University of Florida, because at USF he can begin doing medical research in chemical engineering after one semester, instead of waiting several years to team up with a professor.

His parents wanted him to go to Gainesville. They tried their best to change his mind. But he would not be dissuaded. Many does not want to wait to begin looking for ways to cure diseases.

Grandma Betty (Many) brags about his extracurricular work: how he managed to make these grades while working a part-time job, lettering in track and field, and serving on Collier County’s teen court, a program where actual students hold actual criminal trials for teens who have fallen afoul of the law.

She positively beams at her grandson. “There’s a whole new world out there. This is just the tip of the iceberg. You’ve got a good start.”

Grandpa Fred (Mitschke) offers his own advice. “I think I probably told you before. Don’t be afraid to change your mind. If you decide the path you’re on is not for you, don’t be afraid to change,” he says. “Your happiness is most important.”

Many indulges them, letting them say everything they need to tell him. Most parents and grandparents tell students how hard they’re going to need to work at college. Many’s grandparents take a different tack, giving maybe the best advice any soon-to-be college student could ever hope to hear.

“Well, you’re gonna have a lot of fun,” Grandma Betty says matter-of-factly.

“That’s one part of college I didn’t take too much advantage of,” interjects Grandpa Fred, who commuted home on weekends to see his wife. “If you can, try not to miss that,” he tells his grandson with a sage seriousness.

The graduation clock ticks on

Back home, a fresh bunch of graduation balloons in the dining room, it’s his parents turn to grow wistful. His dad, Richard, thinks he’s ready for his son to go. His mom, Nancy, just shakes her head. She plans to keep his room exactly the same, and protect it from his 11-year-old brother who says he wants to turn it into a dance room.

“It’ll still be his room,” she says about Jeffrey, before lightening the mood. “Well, we’ll see how often he comes home,” she jokes.

When the valedictorian gets out of the shower and emerges from his room wearing his black robe, everyone in his home has a camera. He indulges them as best he can.

“You’re gonna put your medals on, right?” his mom asks, referring to the academic medals he’s won.

“You gonna put your hat on?” Grandpa Fred asks.

“Not yet,” Many says patiently. He begins pacing a bit as his hair finishes drying.

“He’s not used to being the center of attention,” his mom whispers.

Finally, when the cap and medals are on and the family has moved the picture-taking to the front yard and taken turns standing next to him, they send him on his way.

The valedictorian is finally excited. The day has stretched long for him, almost as long as the 13 years it took him to get here. “It just seemed like it would never come,” he says, turning his car toward Golden Gate High.

The big event

Sitting in the Golden Gate auditorium in a pre-staging area while parents gather in the school gym, Many sits up front with the salutatorian Heather Benton and Margarita De Jesus, a Jr. ROTC girl who’s been chosen to lead everyone in the pledge of allegiance during the ceremony.

This position puts her on stage next to Many and Benton, and now that they’re in their cap and gowns, she’s suddenly aware of her lack of honor cords and medals. She’s still bubbly, though, a breath of fresh air for the valedictorian and salutatorian.

Benton is nervous. Aside from having to give her own speech, she’s wearing a dress and heels, things she says aren’t normally a part of her wardrobe.

De Jesus jokes around. She laughs about her strapless dress and her struggle to keep it from falling down under her graduation robe. She complains about a strapless bra and offers to tuck Benton’s car keys in there. (Benton is also worrying about where to put her keys during the ceremony.)

“At least tell me your excited,” Benton says to Many. “‘Cause you’re just sitting there like ...” she says, making a deadpan expression.

“Jeff, could you have anything more around your neck?” asks anatomy teacher Lisa Townsend as she passes by.

De Jesus takes Many’s speech and writes “Slow Down” all over it, to help him remember not to rush through it. Then she adds smiley faces.

“See, that’s going to make you smile,” she says to Many, who flashes her a grin but otherwise looks the same as he does on any other day.

The ceremony

At 7 p.m. most of the families are in the Golden Gate gym. Many’s family has secured good seats up high on the side, where they can see Jeffrey’s face on stage the entire time. His little brother has the video camera. Mom and Grandma have tissues.

As “Pomp and Circumstance” begins the family leans forward, searching for the valedictorian at the doorway where the students are about to enter.

“There he is!” Dad says, pointing to where his boy is walking. Mom takes the video camera. They watch him walk the long aisle and take the stage.

From his perch on the dais the valedictorian surveys his fellow students. He gives his speech at just the right pace, urging his fellow classmates to take the road less-traveled. He encourages them to not be afraid to fail, because the true test of character, he tells them, is in picking yourself up when you fall. He inspires them to serve humanity and do good works.

His mother wipes tears and his father beams. The valedictorian takes his diploma and returns to his seat on the stage while the rest of his class files forward for the next two hours to accept theirs.

Then, at the end of the evening, with all degrees having been conferred, the valedictorian — the boy with the highest GPA and a gift for science — rises and leads his class into one final act of chaos, a symbolic act of entropy.

He grabs his cap with his right hand and flings it into the air, and for one brief moment as 236 caps rise upward and then freeze mid-motion, in that nanosecond before gravity takes over and they return to earth, they are all frozen on that delicate edge of two worlds where anything can happen.