June evenings

A thousand voices filled the courtyard as the auditorium emptied. Tears flowed. Laughter was shared. Hugs were given. Parents spoke in awe while some students complained about mistakes and while some others recalled their best moment. It was graduation, prom and the state championship all rolled into one. For some it was the culmination of a year’s work. For others it was the validation they sought after seven years of harder work.

The moon hung in the west in a crescent, the twilight ending and the stars beginning to take full effect. The sky was a luminescent blue. Bands of light came from the auditorium, illuminating the tiny spaces in the dark courtyard. This was the perfect June evening. And this was a reminder of why I do what I do, he thought. A photo, a recording must been taken of the scene that night. But it’s one that’s repeated over and over on nights light this, on courtyards like this, with friends and families like this, in other cities like this.

There was no other care in the world on that courtyard that night except for what just happened in the auditorium moments earlier. Because at that age, nothing matters but now. This is a moment—a feeling—that should be preserved and added on the endangered species list. Little do they know that it’s seldom that they—the kids—will feel like this again. It’s because the kids don’t know any better. Their spirit hasn’t been hardened. Their naïveté is confused for courage. Their ignorance is their strength. Because life hasn’t happened to them yet. They believe a moment like this is a regular occurrence. And they do not know that life is the biggest obstacle to this feeling.

There has to be a way to shield our youth from life—before experience leads to heartbreak and knowledge becomes cynicism and courage is replace by the false promise of comfort.

This is why I do what I do. To remember what it was like before life. To experience a perfect summer night and to wonder what life would be like if that June evening had been endless.