Personal Narrative: Summer In The City Detroit

It was August 17th, the second to last day of Summer in the City Detroit, and I had just stepped in a stagnant pool of hot rain water. I was damp, sweating, and so uncomfortable I considered keeling over just to relieve myself from the feeling that I was no longer a girl, but a swamp. However, I had at least five hours of painting ahead of me, and I was not about to let a little moisture stop me. I figured since my wet shoes were the biggest nuisance, my next logical move would be to simply peel them off and press on into the day. I’d seen my coworkers do it before… on especially hot evenings you’d see bare feet, bare backs and dismissed tee shirts scattered everywhere across site. No one ever cared, or even noticed, but still I hesitated. What if someone

I’d always been a perfectionist, planning things out, sticking to protocol, and avoiding all chances of embarrassment. That doesn’t exactly fly when you work for a volunteer organization painting large scale artwork on crooked ladders with ancient brushes and latex paint. I was bound to look silly once in awhile, and I did. Mistakes were bound to happen, and trust me, they did. I painted wavering lines, sketched on the wrong angle, and swatched shapes with the wrong color, but with so much to do, there wasn’t time to be embarrassed or upset. Plus, at the day's close, the walls still seemed magic despite their little flaws, because the neighborhood kids didn't see smudges or miscalculations, just their daycare, once a plain grey, covered in rainbow diamonds, and their faces glowed. That’s all that really mattered in the end, the people, and that glow. I stopped caring how perfect the paintings were, because what really mattered was giving these communities something that truly represented the beauty and liveliness that they exuded, something they could be proud