You think you know adversity?

Earlier this summer, I attended my niece's graduation from high school. I always knew she was special, but when I heard her deliver the commencement address I was moved to tears. With her permission, I'm sharing her speech verbatim here so that you all may be as inspired as I was. Enjoy.

"Thank you for the warm introduction, President O’Leary. Before I began, I’d like to thank you, Principal Markoff, Mrs. Manray and all faculty and staff for your support over these past four years. Your willingness to make accommodations for my unique situation has been overwhelming, even down to this custom podium you designed for me. 

Fellow graduates of the class of 2026, I’d like to tell you a very personal story about how this school shaped me over the past four years, even as my very own shape changed more dramatically than I could have ever expected. 

It was September 6, 2022. A day that has played on a loop in my head every morning since, sometimes dull and throbbing, but more often taking the shape of a searing pain that reminds me of the cruelty inflicted upon me that day.

I had just completed an exhilarating first day of school as a freshman here, but there was no way I could've know what was in store. The evening began beautifully, with streaks of purple, yellow, and orange cutting through the beach grass at my family's home. Surely a good omen, I remember thinking.

I couldn’t wait. My father had spent the previous eight months hunting the pirates who burned my mother alive for allegedly placing a hex on their captain. The occasional postcard was all that kept my spirits alive.

September 6 marked his return.

I dressed in my finest snuffy and began my preparations. First, I sorted through the bushel of hair clippings I'd collected from Supercuts, selecting only the choicest strands. I stuffed my mother's favorite jumper and topped it with her Wiccan headdress. Finally, I mixed resin into Mom's ashes and painted her delicate features onto the headdress. I chuckled as I imagined her winking at me with those smoldering eyes. Mom would've been so proud.

The rest of the evening unfolded as expected. I wheeled Mom down to Thomas Autobody so she could watch them repair the quarter panel of an '86 Celica. She always did have an eye for a proper spot weld.

We got back to the house as the sun was at its lowest point, so when the dot of Dad’s boat appeared in the distance, I had to strain and squint to get a good look. My heart was bursting with anticipation, but it wasn’t until the last wave delivered his rowboat to shore that I could finally set eyes upon my father’s countenance.

But… it wasn’t his countenance that my eyes settled upon. It was the fact that he was ONLY countenance.

He was… just a head… with four sticks jutting out of what I supposed was his neck. 

I was horrified. My father was like a real-life Mr. Potato Head, but instead of fun appendages he had waterlogged wooden arms and legs that seemed to be made of a briny driftwood.

Despite all of this, he beamed a great big smile, which melted my heart. No matter what he looked like, this was my father. MY father. The man who avenged my mother’s incineration and raised me to become the independent woman I am. The man who brought me to this fine institution, who taught me how to sew and distinguish between human and animal hair. 

I was overcome with shame for my initial fear and sought to make up for it with a sincere hug. As I wrapped my arms around that little head, I felt Dad embrace me with the familiar bear hug I had yearned for over these many months. It was glorious while it lasted, and I almost didn’t notice the droplets of blood forming on my arms as I stepped back to consider how best to get him back to the house. I mused about whether I could lob him through the open window when, all of a sudden, I fell to my knees with a weakness I’d never felt before...

The doctors who brought me back to health later told me I suffered nearly 200 splinters from that hug, several of which burrowed deep under my skin and led to serious infection. If it wasn’t for the bravery and quick thinking of those doctors to perform a quadruple amputation, I might never have been able to wear this graduate medallion you see here this afternoon. Nor would I have been able to get a job at Boston Bowl as a stand-in for the 10 pounder, working alongside my dearest father, setting records as the only self-propelled father/daughter tandem to ever knock down 500 pins in 3 hours. 

As I "stand" propped up before you today, I bring you a story of resolve from which I hope you all draw inspiration. The events of September 6, 2022 could’ve broken me. To be sure, they stalk me when I’m at my lowest points, yet the spirit and resilience that has been imbued in me over these past four years here has seen me through the darkness. I have turned from a ball of hate and despair into a ball of joy who will forever live the hallmarks of St. Julie Billiart. And with those hallmarks as my ramps, I know that even though I roll through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil, for you all are with me.

Peace.