I recieved an art award in 5th grade - an award named after a woman who was deceased at the time my name was called but whose presence was still felt as I made slow moving strides to the stage. Mrs. Dean, she was my second grade teacher and always singled me out from the rest of the class. Small brown skin that only seemed to concern her. I recall pursed lips, standing in the hallway despite the rest of the class heading on to eat their lunches while I was held back for cheating. Cheating on a test only I confidently knew the answers to which Irene fumbled to pass as her own. Yet she was still allowed to alleviate the disturbance rumbling above her belt buckle while my stomach panged me with knowledge. Frozen images of back of the classroom segregation hit me hard.
Standing on stage, I reached out to shake the trembling hands of Mr. Dean who now presented me with the praised Dean Art Award; a small pin sitting on blue foam in a plastic case. I still have it to this day buried beneath memories in a cardboard box. Mrs. Dean must have been watching down from Heaven that day, appauled at the circumstances... color recieving an award for art.