When 12 massive, leather-clad bikers crashed my daughter’s graduation, parents panicked—until the biggest one pulled out a chewed-up pink squeaky toy and started crying.

Late-night studying.

Double shifts at a veterinary clinic.

More than once I’d found her asleep at the kitchen table with textbooks open and coffee gone cold.

When the dean stepped to the microphone, the audience quieted.

“And now,” he said, adjusting his glasses, “we will begin the pinning ceremony for our graduating veterinary technicians.”