It's funny, really. The people that I'm actually connected to on a somewhat regular basis in some way - neighbors, church members, Facebook, etc. - don't usually ask at all. I'd like to believe that is due to the fact that my sparkling personality so overwhelms them that they simply no longer see the chair. Of course, the reality is that they probably just asked someone else who knew the story.
When I HAVE been asked & had opportunity to tell the long story, I've noticed that, over the years, my answer has changed. I find that interesting. The facts of the event haven't changed, so why is my story different? I believe it is because I am different. As I have aged & grown, my perspective has changed. The details that were once glaringly important to me just simply don't matter any longer. The things that I once glossed over are now the important standouts. I suppose that is true with all of life. I believe it would show us to be emotionally stunted in some way if our stories DIDN'T change.
So, here is what happened - the January, 2009 version anyway:
In the Fall of 1986, I was a 23-year-old college student who also held down a job as a Staffing Assistant. This was my, "get it right" attempt at college, having dropped out 2 or 3 times previously. This time I was doing quite well, having a goal & a plan...that is, until I let my social life get in the way. I became friends with a group from my Sociology class & started dating one of the guys. We all allowed our schoolwork to slip in deference to spending time with our friends. Because of this, on Thursday, November 20th, we had to stay up all night in order to complete the Sociology papers we had known (since the beginning of the quarter) were due on November 21st. We went to class that Friday & turned in our papers. After class, I, unfortunately, had to go work for 5 hours.
That night, exhausted, I went on a double date with my boyfriend & another guy from our group. The Lord tried in so many ways to stop me, but at the time, I didn't know about His still, small voice.
- I had to go by my dad's after work & he was nervous because I was late. (That was weird because I was always late.)
- My mom, who I lived with, fussed & fussed telling me I should stay home because we were going to my niece's gymnastics meet early the next day. (My mom never tried to keep me home on a Friday night.)
- Truth be told, I really didn't feel like going because I was so tired, but I didn't want to disappoint my date (stupid move).
- When we got to the concert we were attending, I actually tried to figure out a way to go home because it was so awful! (It was a punk rock concert - my first & only - & I spent the evening with my mouth gaping open in disbelief at how truly ridiculous the whole thing was.) I thought about calling my mom, but couldn't ask her to drive to downtown Atlanta at 11:00 at night. I thought about calling my dad, but didn't want a lecture. I thought about getting a taxi, but didn't have any money.
Well, this post is growing painfully long, so I'll end here for now. Next time I'll write about the events that took place immediately after the wreck.