The Class of the Class of 2015

It was an invitation that I would never have expected, but could have not coveted more. It came by text, of course, as it was from my 17-year-old son, Jacob. “Mom, would you speak at our high school baccalaureate?” Stunned, I texted back. “Tell me more.”

“The student government nominated you. They want some humor, motivation, and inspiration. You have about 10 minutes.” The lady sitting next to me on the Silver Airways flight to Tampa as I traveled to a V Foundation board meeting had to notice the tears sliding down my cheeks. “How do you feel about it?” I responded. His reply was swift. “I feel great.”

And so the nerves kicked in. As the former president of the WNBA, I’ve spoken all over the world, including at the White House. These days, my speaking engagements are more often with groups of executives who are interested in leadership lessons.

Still, I could not imagine anything more anxiety-producing than speaking to my child’s graduating class.

Over the four years of his high school career, I had gone from knowing nothing — being the uncoolest of the cool, in his eyes — to, now, being sort of cool. While he didn’t ask me to pick him up from school from down the street, there were always lively discussions that ended with the refrain of “Mom, you just don’t understand.” Now, in a way, I was graduating as well.

This was pressure.

The Baccalaureate, an annual ceremony held for graduating seniors, was being held at the Beaches Church, a local place of worship in our community of Jacksonville Beach, Florida. I could not tell you why it was being held at the church, other than it had been the host site for many years. Georgia, the wonderful, engaging and energetic vice president of Fletcher High School’s student government, told me the pastor would be in touch to review specifics for the day.

My next text regarding Baccalaureate came a week later, with the ceremony to be held in 8 days. By now, I was in full-scale preparation. It was a daunting task to come up with a talk that would be meaningful and memorable to a graduating high school class.and I was musing through possible stories and themes multiple times a day. So when the first line from Georgia’s text read,

”I am so so so embarrassed and ashamed to tell you…” I was rather surprised. Was I reading this right? She was notifying me that I was no longer a welcomed speaker for the Baccalaureate.

Wow, my moment of “coolness” had been fleeting. Her subtext belied a feeling of injustice. As I read on, Georgia explained that the youth pastor of the church had decided that the event was straying from a Christian focus. It wasn’t clear to me why this ceremony was being held in a church at all — and, as Fletcher is a public high school, I certainly didn’t understand why there was a call for a Christian focus. Previous speakers had included teachers and former principals of the school. Baccalaureates did originate as a Christian service for Christian schools. But, as adapted by US public schools, the event is commonly understood as an opportunity for a reflective, personalized gathering prior to graduation, which is much bbigger and more formal. Now, Georgia explained, the pastor required that the speaker be a leader of another church in the community, specifically someone they knew. Georgia’s disappointment and frustration was apparent — the student-run event appeared to be being hijacked.

As I read and reread her angst-filled message, it was what she didn’t say that really concerned me. After all, I am active in my “church”. I am a responsible, spiritual, moral leader.

Was someone going to say what I was thinking out loud?

Was this about me being a person of the Jewish faith? A day later, the youth pastor at Beaches Church left me a voice mail. As we had not met or spoken yet, he said, he thought it would be helpful if we connected so that he could explain what had been going on. When I reached him, he was eager to talk. He told me that his Church had hosted the ceremony the past several years and he had just two rules for the students this year to make sure that all went well. He asked that they meet to get organized, which they had and that they host a Christian non-denominational service. He was perplexed as to why the students clearly had not connected with his second request.

I assured him that, as I spoke all over the country regularly for work, I was sure I could deliver something appropriate. He told me he had no doubts about that, but that that was not the point. “We have not met each other, but I have been told that you could be of the Jewish faith.” I was horrified at where I thought this conversation could be going. “Yes,” I replied. He then continued straightforwardly: “Ma’am, if I am going to let people use my building at no cost, and we are going to help them, then I must fulfill my mission of preaching the gospel of Jesus Christ.” As a Jewish person, I had been unceremoniously dismissed.

I was horrified, indignant, and appalled that religious discrimination — and while I did not want to believe specifically that this was anti-semitism — was living right here in my front yard.

This was my neighborhood, my friends, and my beloved community. My son and his friends, some Jewish, some not, were participating in this ceremony. What was the message being sent to them? This was a diverse class of public high school students, it felt so blatantly disrespectful.

Further, to disinvite the student government’s already invited speaker appeared to cross the line. My anger and surprise definitely added a few decibels to the remaining conversation I had with the pastor. I reminded him that this was 2015, and that Fletcher was a public school educating students of all faiths and beliefs, including non-believers. His single-minded focus, not to mention my disinvitation, did not sound like it was in the spirit of an INCLUSIVE ceremony.

“Clearly sir, what you are practicing here is the embodiment of exclusion, and that does not sound very Christian to me.”

“Ma’am, I’m sorry you hear it that way”.

“Hear it that way? I believe that is what you are saying.”

It was at this point he reminded me that the kids were in charge — that this was their service. I laughed, still amazed that with his laser-like focus on “his” mission, he was excluding so many students — the very students for whom this ceremony was being hosted. I pointed out that he was hiding behind the kids; he was the one in charge, dictating the terms for a ceremony that was not of the kids’ making. Did those sound like the tenets of Christianity?

You may ask, where were the public school officials in all of this? Because of the staging of the event at the church, the school district rules required that the event be entirely student-run. The students were truly on their own.

Word that the students’ selected speaker was disinvited began to trickle out in our little beach community. Kids were upset and there was uncertainty as to whether they should attend. Baccalaureate, even more than graduation, is a reflective time. It provides the opportunity to celebrate in a more intimate setting, be inspired and motivated by speakers and is a time for family and friends to take photos of their graduates in their caps and gowns. Georgia was particularly perplexed,

“I don’t practice Christianity and I am still speaking. Why can’t you speak. Just because you are not Christian, this does not make any sense?”

Parents were embarrassed, and time would tell where this learning lesson would lead. Challenges reveal character, and as I reminded Georgia when we spoke later that day, this was not a time to run or give in; it was time to dig in.

The personal question for my family was whether we would participate at all. As a Jewish family, would we want to sit in a ceremony where our religion and beliefs were purposefully not recognized? My Jewish friends who had students in the school sent texts of support. As long as the situation remained fluid, we chose a wait and see approach.

By that Friday afternoon, Georgia sent me a text that they were looking into other churches. Her words were powerful, their actions even more so. “We guarantee that whatever church we go to will do it our way.” She wanted to be sure I would still be interested in speaking. There was no doubt. I was truly moved.

My expectation was that the students would learn a valuable lesson and that they would take this experience and help the next year’s class use it to create the representative, inclusive, engaging, truly non-denominational Baccalaureate that they wanted. This year’s runway appeared to be too short to realize their plan. With only a week to the actual event, the chances of finding a new location, working through all of the accompanying logistics, and communicating the change to the student body and their families felt like a long shot.

That’s what made the next text I received from Georgia, 5 days later and just 4 days before the ceremony, even more amazing. The announcement was simple: “So the official date of the Baccalaureate is May 31 at 4:30. It’s being held at First Baptist Church in Jacksonville Beach. Could you be there early to run through some things, very excited!!”

WOW and WOW. The community was motivated to create change. Parents stepped in and had made calls and joined the students in creating a ceremony of their making and choosing at a different church.

This was not about ME. In the ongoing back and forth, as the situation unfolded, this was about the students finding their voice. It was also about helping a community showcase theirs as well.

For me, I was humbled, and filled with a sense of incredible hope.

When faced with a tough decision between doing what was expedient and what was right, our kids, had chosen what was right.

They followed the courage of their convictions to send a message that said: yes you can call the shots, but so can we. So if you want to talk about the character of our youth, or better yet, if you want to see it in action, you may not need to look further than your own backyard. When unable to secure “their” vision of an inclusive ceremony with the speaker of “their” choosing, they spoke with their feet. And despite them feeling as one student government officer shared with me, “we are just kids” they stood up to a formidable institution where many student’s families were members and made the necessary calls and initiated outreach, that ensured that I could speak. As Georgia texted, “student government has your back.”

Student Government had much more than my back. They showed a stiff upper lip and biceps willing to be flexed. With grace and thoughtfulness, they powerfully showed why this class will forever be entwined with a life-long lesson on inclusivity, motivation, and inspiration.

They have heart, big hearts and my hope is that our community will be better for them having taken action. For when it came time to be counted, Fletcher high school seniors stood tall. For parents who are invested in our kids, our public school system, and our community, something really right has been happening. We say of our Fletcher students that they are the “pride of the beaches.” Could we be any prouder?

So yes, on May 31, a Jewish mom was welcomed by the First Baptist Church in Jacksonville Beach to offer humor, motivation, and inspiration to the graduating class of Fletcher high school. Of course, Jacob reminded me, “Remember mom, you have 10 minutes.”