Mr. Stevenson

His son was a prolific graffiti artist, maybe that was it, or maybe as an art teacher he appreciated the progression of my stupid drawings into new mediums, or maybe he just didn’t want to see me in trouble. Whatever it was, that day in class he knew it was me and decided not to threaten, scold, or turn me in for it. Instead he was encouraging. He told me he liked the rotating cast of characters I’d always draw, all he asked was that I stopped spray painting them on the side of the high school.