Okay, so maybe sometimes the real world is smiles and miracles. Right there in front of us, Danny Hupfer was no longer Danny who stuck wads of gum under his desk. Or Danny who screamed out of his skull at soccer games. Or Danny who ran cross country on bloody knees and waved sweaty T-shirts.
He was more than all of those things. He sang the words, and he was everyone who had sung them before him, like he was taking up his place in this huge choir and it wasn't Miss Violet of the Very Spiky Heels but God Himself leading the music. You saw Danny covered with weight.
Then the cantor and Danny's father stood over him and blessed him. More weight.
And Danny chanted again, this time from the Prophets. More weight.
And then he reached into his back pocket and took out his speech, his Dvar Torah. "Today," he said, "I am become a man."
And he had.
You could see it afterward, when he recited the blessings over the challah, and over the wine, and everyone shouted "L'chayim!" "To life!"
Danny had become a man. You could see him take up his place. And he was smiling. And crying, too.
After the service, my parents and Heather decided not to stay for the party already starting in the reception hall. When they asked if I wanted a ride, I told them I would walk home instead. But I went to the parking lot with them anyway.
As he unlocked the door, my father said, "I bet you're glad you don't have to go through something like that."
"I guess I am," I said.
"What do you mean, 'I guess I am'?" he said. "Would you want to stand up there with all that stuff all over you and chant at everyone?"
"It was a whole lot more than chanting at everyone," I said.
"Let's get into the car," said my mother.
"No," said my father. He put his arms up on top of the station wagon's roof. "I'd like to know what Holling thought was a whole lot more."
My stomach got tight. "He became a man," I said.
"You think that's how you become a man, by chanting a few prayers?"
"You think you become a man by getting a job as an architect?"
My father straightened. "That's exactly how you become a man," he said. "You get a good job and you provide for your family. You hang on, and you play for keeps. That's how it works."
"I really do think we should get in the car," said my mother.
"I don't think so," I said to my father. "It's not just about a job. It's more. It has to with choosing for yourself."
"And you didn't even have to go to California to figure all that out," said my father. "So who are you, Holling?"
I felt Heather looking at me. And somehow - I don't know - I thought of Bobby Kennedy, who could have made all the difference.
"I don't know yet," I said finally. "I'll let you know."
"What a barrel of mumbo-jumbo," said my father. He got into the station wagon and slammed the door. My mother blew me a kiss - really - and then she got in, too.
And my sister got in last of all.
She was smiling.
I could hardly breathe.
from The Wednesday Wars by Gary D. Schmidt
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