The day the first two Mae Collins Scholarship recipients were announced, Aunt Patty group-texted a photo of herself holding the letter like a birth certificate. One scholarship went to a first-generation college graduate from Toledo who had worked night shifts at a warehouse through undergrad and still made the dean’s list. The other went to a former EMT from Flint who had written about the chemistry of trust in his personal statement and meant it.
My parents didn’t put their names on the fund’s press release. They didn’t attend the photo op. They mailed checks and sat in the audience at the small ceremony, clapping like civilians.
Afterward, my father texted me a selfie with his thumb accidentally covering half the lens. His message said only: For Mae. For you girls. For the kids. I saved it anyway.
On the last day of my fellowship year, Dr. Fleming closed her office door and said, “I’m going to say something scary and then sit very still while you react. Ready?”
“No,” I said. “Do it anyway.”