Award ceremonies conjur the most vivid (slightly exaggerated) memories.
When I was in 5th grade I missed the memo and arrived at the end-of-year award ceremony in my school clothes.
Lovely, little well-informed girls took turns lining the stage dressed in their delicate Easter frocks.
And I, having endured a series of growth spurts, stood towering over their precious parade in my sky blue terry cloth izod polo tucked into Lee Jeans with a 4-inch cuff at the ankles because I was still rounder than I was tall. And because I rarely do things half-way, my sneakers were scuffed and my bangs were sweaty from safety patrol crosswalk duty after school.
Award after award. Back up to the stage I trudged ... to greet the principal with one hand, grab the paper with the other, force a smile toward the flashing bulb, and return to my seat. On and on it went.
Were there ever a year where mediocrity might have mercifully spared me. But no. Relentless excellence. "Cari Walker" clap clap clap clap. Oh.my.word.make.it.stop.can.we.go.now.
This might be why I read EVERY word of EVERY email and save them ALL. And why I hate Easter dresses and crowds.
Good night.
