They respond:
—Courage, honor, standing up for what is right, never giving up, helping those weaker than you.
Wayne listens. He really listens. These kids understand him. They grasped the lessons he was trying to put in every movie, even when he didn’t know that’s what he was doing.
Near the end of the afternoon, a boy raises his hand. Small, dark hair, serious face. Tommy, 8 years old.
—Sr. Wayne…
—Yes, son.
—Why did he help us? We are nobodies.
The room falls silent.
All the children were waiting for the answer. Margaret, by the door, with her hands clasped, was also waiting.
Wayne walks over to Tommy’s desk, kneels down, and gets down to Tommy’s eye level.
—Listen to me carefully. You’re nobody. Don’t ever say that again. You’re Americans. All of you. That means you matter. Every single one of you. It doesn’t matter if you live in Hollywood or Montana or anywhere else. You’re Americans. That’s everyone.
Tommy’s eyes well up with tears. He nods. He doesn’t trust his own voice.
Wayne stands up and looks at them all.
—And when they grow up, they’ll help the next generation of kids, the ones who think they’re nobody. They’ll show them they matter. That’s how America works. We lift each other up. Got it?
Twelve voices in unison:
