Jesse Leon - Im Not Broken: A Memoir

Lets fast-forward to the end.

I am in the middle of Harvard Yard proudly sitting on a plastic folding chair, wearing my black cap and gown, surrounded by classmates seated in neat rows and columns.

I hear a loud, familiar whisper from behind me. Hey, Nerd! Turn around, Nerd!

Why am I hearing my brother call me Nerd? I think to myself without even turning around. Here I am, sweating under my cap and gown on this scorching-hot June day, sitting in the middle of Harvard Yard listening to the commencement speaker, on the day of my own graduation, and I am hearing my brothers voice in my head calling me Nerd? Damn, I must be going crazy!

The truth is, that nickname, which eventually became a term of endearment from my brother and my closest friends, started out as one of my brothers many forms of bullying me for being a smart nerdy kid. My friend sitting behind me taps me on the shoulder. I turn around to find my brother slouched down at the end of the row where I am sitting. Hes wearing creased-out slacks and his nicest short-sleeve guayabera shirt. Hes waving at me with his tattoo-covered arm.

My brother is not unassuming. He is five feet, ten inches tall, muscular, and covered in tattoos from his neck down. He tends to get noticed wherever he goes and whether he wants the attention or not. Im sure people are wondering about the buff, tatted, gangster-looking guy creeping along the rows of chairs on the plush green lawn surrounded by classic brick buildings. Thousands of graduates, family members, alumni, and faculty are gathered to celebrate Harvards 350th graduation-day ceremonies for the college and all the universitys graduate schools, and theres my brother, taunting me. Nerd, he calls me.

What the fuck are you doing? I hiss back.

I cant believe this is happening. I feel the tension of breaking etiquette tightening around me. Everyone else is adhering to the rules of decorum. I feel embarrassed yet protective. Despite the years of angst between us, I want to guard my brother and my family against any judgment that might be cast their way, any glares that would show others we are out of place.

Hey, Nerd! Ams not feeling well. She feels dizzy, her feet are swollen, and there is nowhere for her to sit in the shade. Its way too hot out here. She doesnt want to leave, but Im taking her somewhere cool where she can sit before she passes out. His voice quivers with nervousness. He points in the direction where theyll be, as if he actually knows where hes going. Well see you at the apartment before the afternoon ceremonies.

The students around me give him confused looks as the tassels on their caps wave around with the movements of their heads. It is clear no one can believe that my family would leave just because it is too hot. This is the day, and my brother and mother are leaving.

I cant help but laugh bitterly at the situation. Only my family. Only my brother would not give a fuck about protocol or etiquette, not even for our commencement speaker. Family always comes first. And our moms health always takes precedence. Okay, I say, Ill see you all later.

I put my head down. I feel disappointed, and a few tears escape my eyes and roll down my cheeks. The student sitting next to me puts his hand on my lap to comfort me as I wipe my face dry.

Getting into and graduating from Harvard is a big deal to me. But I understood. My mom, who I call Am, had survived two heart attacks and struggled with high blood pressure and severe diabetes. I remind myself that she and my brother had come all the way across the country, from San Diego, to be with me, and that is what matters most. And yet, the disappointment wells in my chest and in my eyes as I lift my head back up to look forward and face the rest of my big day alone. My best friend, Ariyel, and her mom, Joy, are here, too, but my family leaving still cuts deep.

Two tears in a bucket, fuck it, I tell myself in a whisper.

I took out a loan for $2,500 to fly my family out to see me graduate, because otherwise they wouldnt have made it. My mother at first wasnt planning to come because she had already seen me graduate from community college and UC Berkeley. Those graduations were enough, shed said, and to her it didnt make sense for me to incur additional fees on her behalf for yet another ceremony. She didnt understand how significant it was for me, and she didnt want to be a burden; she didnt want to make my load any heavier.

In the end, I just paid. I wanted Am, my brother, my little sister, my brothers wife, and my two nephews to be here so that they could watch a poor, sexually abused, drug-addicted Chicano kid get his masters degree from Harvard, of all places. Dad was too frail to make the trip because of his age and his early onset of dementia. My sister stayed back to care for him. Getting the others here, in many ways, had felt like pulling teeth. But here they were, on my day, and I was glad for that. For this day meant the world to me. I was twenty-six years old and had been through hell to get here. Ultimately, I was proud, and I was proud for my family to be here.

This is my story, the story of the pains and the miracles that led me to this day on the Harvard Yard, where I felt the hot sun on my face and, for the first time, felt my life was laid out boundlessly before me. As for so many others like me, this was not what was supposed to happen. And yet here I was. I survived. I was not broken. This was me, and I had made it here. But, to get to where we are, we have to come from somewhere. So this is also the story of my family.