Copyright (c) 2007 Derek Clontz/4-Page Media, Inc. All rights reserved.
IT WAS A PRETTY CRUEL group of kids who teased and tormented Billy Thomas through the 17 years of classroom study that it took for him to get his high school diploma.
As the length of time he spent in the classroom might indicate, Billy wasn’t quite like those other kids, nor was he quite so well equipped to excel in his classes.
It wasn’t that his intelligence was lacking. After all, he had an above-average IQ of 117.
A more likely candidate for his troubles was the muscular dystrophy that robbed him of his coordination and the simple strength required to turn the page of a book, pick up a pencil to sign his name or even wipe the drool from his own chin.
Of course, the kids Billy grew up with weren’t particularly concerned with the why or the how of it. They just knew he was different – a “retard” - and something in their foolish hearts told them that tormenting Billy was, in fact, the “right” thing to do.
Looking back, folks say that if Billy ever had a friend, nobody was aware of it.
The one thing he did have was a smile on his face, through thick and thin, through all the teasing, through all the tormenting, until the bitter end, which came, it seemed, in a jarringly grotesque stroke of bad timing – when Billy fell into a coma just hours before the only dream he ever dared to dream was within his grasp: Graduating from high school.
A lot of people have a lot of opinions about what happened in the hours after he lost consciousness. Suffice it to say that the word spread fast.
And in one of those transformational “awakenings” that occasionally occur at times like this, the kids who had done everything in their power to make Billy’s life a living hell suddenly “got it.”
Some say it was the meanest and cruelest kids in school who carried Billy’s limp, comatose body into the high school assembly hall. Others say the meanest, cruelest kids were sobbing in the parking lot.
But the one thing everybody agrees on is this: There wasn’t a single cruel taunt awaiting Billy that night.
In fact, the only sound anyone recalls hearing was the ovation that rumbled like rolling summer thunder for 35 astonishing minutes, an ovation that might have gone on for hours if Billy’s eyelids hadn’t fluttered weakly open, enabling him to see his past, present, and future blending into one great and wonderful thing in the final moments of his life.
And in the whooshing avalanche of sound-becoming-silence that followed, a bone-thin hand wafted up from Billy’s side to accept the high school diploma that was the first and final symbol of achievement in what surely was, from the point of view of a simple “retard” such as Billy, a life damn well lived.
For what seemed like forever, folks say, but surely was just a fraction of a second, Billy held that precious scrap of paper in trembling, disease-weakened fingers, held it fast and tight before the burden of living became too much to bear.
In a time and space so deep, rich, full and heart-rending that tough guys grown men still weep with the simple act of recalling it, Billy’s eyelids closed as softly as a butterfly’s wings flutter for the last time.
Just then, as you might very well imagine, Heaven’s newest resident – and surely its proudest high school graduate – breathed a shallow last breath, releasing an unconquerable spirit that found perfect freedom, at long, long, last, in a crippled kid’s sweet death.
Now you may think the story ends where it started, in Sydney, Australia, and when it started, on Sept. 12, 1957 – but that isn’t at all the case. Billy’s story continues to this day, you see, with the annual Graduates’ March, a candle-lit, 50-mile walk that has raised money for sick and dying children and their families for the past 50 years.
The leaders of the March are the “cruel” kids Billy attended school with. And the only ones missing year to year are thoe who have joined the brave kid who wasn’t “normal enough” to be their friend, but became their hero – and changed their lives forever.