The best man at my wedding was one of my former students. We met when I was the new advisor to the honor society, and he was a new inductee attending his first meeting. He was unremarkable in appearance, short, with his scruffy beard, jeans, t-shirt, and NFL cap. The group was, at that point in time, a bit stagnant. About fifteen new members attended the meeting. He stood up to suggest we organize a trip to a Dolphins game, and I noticed something interesting. When he spoke, everyone paid rapt attention to him, even me. I had been an educator by then for nearly fifteen years, and in situations like this, I generally was doing in my head what has become known of late as multi-tasking…part listening, part going over the contents of my next lecture, and part thinking about what I was going to have for dinner. Not this time. Something about this ordinary-looking teenager, in this ordinary situation, was extraordinary.
After the meeting, I suggested that he come back to my office. I guess that he thought he was in some kind of trouble. We talked for a while, and he told me that he had dropped out of high school, flipped burgers at Wendy’s for a couple of years, gotten a G.E.D., and decided to give college a try. It turns out that he was good at it. Really good. Good enough to be invited to join the honor society after just one semester. I told him that I wanted the honor society at my college to develop into something meaningful…to provide the most beneficial experiences for the most able and deserving students, and I told him that I needed his help to accomplish that goal. He liked the idea, and we became friends that very day.
The national convention of this large and prestigious organization was soon to commence in Washington, D.C. I asked the college to send four of us…myself, the chapter president, the chapter vice-president, and my new friend. And away we went. None of us had attended the convention prior to this one. The president and the vice-president went to party, my new friend and I went to learn. We did. One of the features of these conventions, like countless similar annual meetings, is the election of national officers. In this organization, these elections seemed to be a real highlight, and the participants in the election seemed to really have a lot of fun. And so I said to my friend…”kid…I think you can do this…but you have to commit the next year to it.” He agreed, and we started planning on the plane ride back home. Soon after arriving home, he was elected Chapter President, rebuilt the chapter, and we took nearly fifty members to the next year’s convention, where he was elected National President on the first ballot.
He had a terrific year as National President. The organization sent him all over the country to speak and attend events. The college showcased him as an example of the life-changing opportunities available on its campuses. And through it all, he remained humble and friendly and funny and accessible. Most importantly, the friendship continued to grow.
His year as National President was coming to an end. During his travels he had met a beautiful, smart, charming young woman, and they had developed a wonderful relationship. He told me that he intended to marry her, and that even though the wedding was years away (they both needed to finish school) I would be his best man. I was honored. He received a full scholarship to a university near her, and off he went. We stayed in touch, and saw each other when he came home to visit his family. He graduated from the university, and won a full scholarship to a fine law school…many hundreds of miles from his beloved. He couldn’t take the separation, dropped out, temporarily he assured me, and moved back to be near her. He supported himself by selling vacuum cleaners, used cars…all without much success. Finally, he moved back home, hoping to get back on track, while still maintaining his relationship. He went to work with another long-time friend, cleaning fast food outlets very late into the night. The irony of this fast food full circle occurred to me, but I never mentioned it to him.
By then I had met the woman who is now my wife, and we had been living together for awhile. And my friend and I had struck a deal. He was going to be my best man, and I was going to be his. My fiance and I were getting up one morning to, coincidentally, attend a wedding…one of my cousins…when the phone call arrived. I was standing there in my home, waiting for my fiance to get ready, at about nine in the morning, wearing a tuxedo, when a mutual friend called to tell me that there had been an accident. On the way to clean a Burger King at 3:30 in the morning, my friend’s car was struck broadside by a police cruiser, speeding without either lights or siren. When we got to the hospital there wasn’t a mark on him except for the bandage on his head…his head had struck the doorpost of the car, and he was in a coma.
He wasn’t supposed to live…but he did. He wasn’t supposed to come out of the coma, but, several months later…he did. But he was changed forever. His speech was impaired, his vision was impaired, His dexterity was impaired, his short-term memory was impaired, he suffered from seizures, and he couldn’t walk. But he was alive, and after some serious time in physical therapy, he came home. And he tried and tried and tried to walk…practiced every day…until eventually, with the help of a walker, he could get around just a bit. I couldn’t understand why, with all of the deficits, this little bit of walking was so important to him.
He never did get married.
Through it all, he never complained, never bemoaned the tragedy that had befallen him, and never cursed the cards that he had been dealt. And he continued to struggle…to do that walking that seemed so important to him. In ancient Greece, it was believed that the seat of courage was in the heart. Clearly…although my friend’s head was damaged by the accident, his heart remained unscathed.
And so, my wedding day arrived, and accident or no accident, deficits or no deficits…a promise is a promise, for him and for me. He was my best man. Using his walker, and with the help of his father, he walked down the aisle, up onto the platform, and handed me the ring for my bride. I was later told by one of his family members that all the months and months of trying to learn to walk all over again had been for one reason…so that he could walk down the aisle and do his duty at my wedding. He pretty much stopped walking after that. He and his family moved a bit farther away not long after, and I don’t see him very much anymore, but not a day goes by that I don’t think of him…he really was the best man at my wedding…in every possible meaning of the term.
