Graduation canceled by coronavirus, but her school spirit lives on

It was 2010 in Punto Fijo, a small town on the north coast of Venezuela. I was 10 years old, and I sat quietly watching my cousin Sandra and her friends celebrate their anticipated high school graduation. About 30 family members -- grandparents, uncles, aunts, and cousins -- had gathered at Sandra’s parents’ place to dance tambores and eat arepas. I can still taste the reina pepiada; chicken, avocado, cilantro and more all mixed only for big days and lively parties.

The room was festooned with happiness. My family takes great pride in education.

I resolved then to relive my family’s bliss when my turn came to graduate. I envisioned an older version of myself at the center of a similar celebration making my loved ones proud.

Today, I’m a high school senior in Miami. But graduation has been canceled. Big parties with dancing and reina pepiada are impossible.

The class of 2020 is historic. Not because of academic achievement, but because of what isn’t there. COVID-19 ripped away our senior year like a Band-Aid. Heartache doesn’t begin to describe how I feel when I think of my last day at Doral Academy Preparatory School. One day, I was hanging out in the school cafeteria with my friends talking about prom weekend, graduation outfits and final projects. Then it was gone. I walked those halls for the final time on Friday, March 13 and didn’t even know it.

My road to Miami started in Punto Fijo, where my dad ran a beauty supply business and my family had lived for generations. As the economy slid into crisis under Hugo Chavez, my parents decided to head for South Florida.

School, society and life in general were different and harsh at first. When we settled in Doral. I didn’t know a word of English, not even hello. But you learn a language fast at that age.

Time flew. I remember a party celebrating completion of elementary school at Divine Savior and then moving on to Doral Academy, where I celebrated eighth-grade promotion. We had robes back then. No cap, though. The high school graduation followed our ceremony. As we left the auditorium at the University of Miami, they lined up to follow us.

The next four years passed in a blur. I made friends and great memories and began planning a future. My parents built a life in the United States including a new beauty supply business, where I helped with social media. My aunt, uncle and cousins followed us here. Two years ago, my abuela, Maria Josefa, arrived.

I kept on dreaming about the moment I would receive my diploma. It would reflect on all I had overcome.

But then came that unlucky Friday. In-person classes vanished. I’ve spent the last two months in isolation. My friends and I host Zoom Friday parties. Cubans, Venezuelans, Colombians and Americans. We Facetime and text. I have never been so glued to my phone.

The first week of May, my friend Lauren -- the student body president -- called to say that it was official. Graduation was canceled. Grad bash and prom, too. Spirit week, when we’d celebrate our years at Doral, wouldn’t happen either.

“I’ve let you down,” Lauren said. But I know it wasn’t her fault.

Now I’m part of a class for which life has been on hold for two months. I want to join my friends, but not to risk bringing the virus home to infect my abuela.

This all has helped me set my priorities straight. All hell can break loose, but health needs to be at the top of the list.

“We are living in unprecedented times,” my mother, Sonia, said recently. “We are part of history that will end up in textbooks.”

On May 16, we held a social distancing senior caravan. We piled into cars in the morning -- all 510 seniors -- and met at school. We drove through the parking lot and picked up our caps and gowns, yard signs with our names and photos, and small gifts from our teachers.

For the last time, I saw all the teachers and staff who had given so much to me. Miss Robertson, my counselor, waved. I rolled down my window and she took a selfie from a distance. I broke down then. And I sobbed for the next 10 minutes. I will forever hold onto that sense of school spirit.

On May 30, we had our virtual graduation. There was a YouTube video followed by a Zoom. Each student had roughly 10 seconds with their family. I wore my cap and gown while sitting with my parents. I folded up a piece of paper to look like a diploma.

Although we didn’t get to say goodbye or celebrate the way we deserved, I’m proud to be part of the class of 2020. We’re strong and resilient. We are doing everything possible to commemorate this time and not let our achievements be ignored.

And we’re moving on. On March 27, during the quarantine, I got word I’d been accepted to the honors college at Florida International University this fall.

My cousin Sandra, who I watched graduate that day in Punto Fijo, moved to Miami not long after we did. She finished college last year. Soon she’ll be working as an accountant.

I’ll never get to recreate her celebration. But I’ll look back and find a blessing in all this. My family, classmates, and I came together like never before.

Now we’ll live life with even more effort than we’ve put into our education. We’ll change the world for the better. From every obstacle, something greater emerges. We’re the next generation of Americans. This is just the beginning.

This article is part of a collaboration between the Miami Herald and Florida International University’s Department of Journalism + Media.

This story was originally published June 3, 2020 at 3:00 PM.