If you’ve ever thought it was too late to finish what you started, let me introduce you to a man who will blow that excuse right out of the water—and probably do it with a Bible in one hand and a battle map in the other. Meet Dr. Jack Hetzel: Methodist pastor, World War II and Korean War veteran, published author, former military science instructor at Texas A&M, and now, at 99 years old, a proud high school graduate.

Yeah, you read that right. The man’s nearly a century old, but earlier this year, he walked across the stage at Big Sandy High School in East Texas and finally received the high school diploma that had eluded him for 90 years. While most of us gripe about having to sit through a single graduation ceremony, this man waited almost a hundred years to go to his.

Dr. Hetzel is the pastor of First United Methodist Church in Big Sandy. If you’re from East Texas, you probably know someone who knows someone who’s sat in one of his pews. But before he was preaching the Gospel, Hetzel was storming through the European theater in World War II. The man fought in Normandy. The Battle of the Bulge. Korea. And while he earned the stripes, the medals, the degrees, and eventually the title “Doctor,” there was one thing that always gnawed at him: he never got his high school diploma.

Hetzel had to drop out of school in the third grade. Third grade. While most kids were worrying about spelling bees and recess, he was facing the real world. But like most men of his generation, he didn’t sit around waiting for a handout. He got to work. He earned his GED in 1948, built a life, raised a family, served his country, and never stopped learning. But still, there was this quiet, unfinished business in the back of his mind—one final checkbox on a life packed with service, sacrifice, and scripture.

“I had little education, and then you have to front life with that. You have to learn somehow,” Hetzel said in an interview. And learn he did—not in a classroom, but from the world around him. When he didn’t understand something, he’d ask. When he needed to grow, he sought wisdom from others. He turned life into his own personal schoolhouse, and considering how far he got, I’d say he graduated top of his class.

Now here’s where it gets even better: the school he once attended didn’t even have a record of him. Try getting a diploma from a place that forgot you existed. But Hetzel wasn’t the type to whine about lost paperwork or missed opportunities. He just kept pressing forward, head down, hands to work, and heart locked on Jesus.

It was thanks to a push from Texas State Senator Bryan Hughes—yes, the one with the cowboy hat and conservative spine—that the Texas Senate formally recognized Dr. Hetzel this past Memorial Day and awarded him his high school diploma through an official resolution. You couldn’t script it better: a decorated war veteran being honored on Memorial Day for the education he’d waited his whole life to receive.

Senator Hughes said it best: “We’re proud of him. He’s someone that I represent, so I’m glad to brag about him and tell the story.” And believe me, this is one story worth bragging about.

The superintendent of Big Sandy High School said giving Hetzel that diploma would go down as one of the biggest highlights of his entire school year. I mean, how often do you hand a diploma to someone who’s already taught at a university, published eight books, survived the bloodiest conflicts of the 20th century, and probably has more life experience than your entire school board combined?

And what did Dr. Hetzel have to say about the whole thing?

“Ninety-nine years of age; that’s something to be blessed about. I know my Lord and Savior Jesus Christ — that’s enough to be blessed about. How much more do I need?”

That’s the kind of humility that makes the whole room go quiet.

So here’s the lesson, folks: it’s never too late. Not to finish what you started. Not to chase a dream. Not to walk a stage you thought you’d never see. Dr. Jack Hetzel reminds us that no matter how many miles you’ve logged, there’s always one more worth walking—especially when it leads to a diploma, a standing ovation, and the satisfaction of knowing you did it the hard way, the right way, and all the way to the end.