Going through some papers, trying to organize my new office a little bit, I discovered a short story I wrote a while ago. I thought I would share it...
When I was about 18 or 19 years old, I commuted to college. At the time, I was unable to drive so my dad drove me to and from campus every day. This was not too inconvenient for him, as my little brother attended high school just up the street from my college and Dad had to drive him to school, also. So we all carpooled together.
One afternoon, there was some sort of activity in the campus center at which I secured three helium balloons to bring home to my son, baby brother and baby sister. The children were 2, 3 and 4 at the time and I imagined their delight at being presented with the fun surprise I was bringing them. I could not wait to get home as I headed out early to the place where Dad was due to pick me up, the Art building.
That afternoon, the sky had unexpectedly cracked open and started to pour out huge bucketfuls of rain. I had no umbrella with me and in an effort to reduce my discomfort from walking across campus through a sheet of water, I decided to cut through another building on my way to my pick-up point.
That would have been fine except that when I exited the other building, silly me, I made the subsequent decision to cut across the lawn rather than take a slightly longer route on the sidewalk. Wouldn't you know, I walked right over a spot where there was more mud than grass and lost my footing. My feet slipped backwards while the rest of me continued forwards and I wound up flat on my face in the mud, holding the ribbons of three helium balloons safely off the ground. The hand holding those balloons was the only clean part of me after the fall. Mud covered my front from chin to shoes.
Needless to say, I was not very happy about the situation. I was wet, cold, mud-covered and embarrassed. I also felt anxious about what other students might think if they saw me. I picked myself up off the ground and scurried the rest of the way to the Art building. Quietly, I crept in through the door near my locker. Hopefully, I would be able to change into my smock before anyone saw me.
Grabbing a paint-splattered t-shirt out of my locker, I made a dash for the restroom. I was almost there. I could see the door... and then it opened. Out walked the Art department chairperson, Marceil Pultorak. "Mrs. P." took one look at me and stopped in her tracks. Her eyes grew wide as she looked me up and down.
"What happened to you?" she asked.
"I fell in the mud."
"Are you alright?" she wanted to know.
"Yes," I muttered, hanging my head a little.
The "yes" had no sooner left my lips than Mrs. P. burst into laughter. I squinted my eyes as I watched her hysterics. Was she crazy? She began having trouble breathing from laughing so hard. Then she saw my expression. Taking her cue from it, the Art professor momentarily chocked back her laughter to explain, "Most people would have let go of the balloons and used their hands to break the fall."
(End of story.) ...At the time, I laughed with my professor. The situation was kind of funny, after all. But now that I look back on the story I see through different, more weathered eyes. The reason I did not let go of the balloons to break my fall was that I was acting out of of love instead of out of self-preservation.Yes, most people these days probably would have let go the balloons. I did not. I so valued the delight of those three, little children that I unconsciously chose to temporarily sacrifice my own comfort for them. I would make the very same choice to this day.
Love is not scared off by a little bit of wet dirt.
When I was about 18 or 19 years old, I commuted to college. At the time, I was unable to drive so my dad drove me to and from campus every day. This was not too inconvenient for him, as my little brother attended high school just up the street from my college and Dad had to drive him to school, also. So we all carpooled together.
One afternoon, there was some sort of activity in the campus center at which I secured three helium balloons to bring home to my son, baby brother and baby sister. The children were 2, 3 and 4 at the time and I imagined their delight at being presented with the fun surprise I was bringing them. I could not wait to get home as I headed out early to the place where Dad was due to pick me up, the Art building.
That afternoon, the sky had unexpectedly cracked open and started to pour out huge bucketfuls of rain. I had no umbrella with me and in an effort to reduce my discomfort from walking across campus through a sheet of water, I decided to cut through another building on my way to my pick-up point.
That would have been fine except that when I exited the other building, silly me, I made the subsequent decision to cut across the lawn rather than take a slightly longer route on the sidewalk. Wouldn't you know, I walked right over a spot where there was more mud than grass and lost my footing. My feet slipped backwards while the rest of me continued forwards and I wound up flat on my face in the mud, holding the ribbons of three helium balloons safely off the ground. The hand holding those balloons was the only clean part of me after the fall. Mud covered my front from chin to shoes.
Needless to say, I was not very happy about the situation. I was wet, cold, mud-covered and embarrassed. I also felt anxious about what other students might think if they saw me. I picked myself up off the ground and scurried the rest of the way to the Art building. Quietly, I crept in through the door near my locker. Hopefully, I would be able to change into my smock before anyone saw me.
Grabbing a paint-splattered t-shirt out of my locker, I made a dash for the restroom. I was almost there. I could see the door... and then it opened. Out walked the Art department chairperson, Marceil Pultorak. "Mrs. P." took one look at me and stopped in her tracks. Her eyes grew wide as she looked me up and down.
"What happened to you?" she asked.
"I fell in the mud."
"Are you alright?" she wanted to know.
"Yes," I muttered, hanging my head a little.
The "yes" had no sooner left my lips than Mrs. P. burst into laughter. I squinted my eyes as I watched her hysterics. Was she crazy? She began having trouble breathing from laughing so hard. Then she saw my expression. Taking her cue from it, the Art professor momentarily chocked back her laughter to explain, "Most people would have let go of the balloons and used their hands to break the fall."
(End of story.) ...At the time, I laughed with my professor. The situation was kind of funny, after all. But now that I look back on the story I see through different, more weathered eyes. The reason I did not let go of the balloons to break my fall was that I was acting out of of love instead of out of self-preservation.Yes, most people these days probably would have let go the balloons. I did not. I so valued the delight of those three, little children that I unconsciously chose to temporarily sacrifice my own comfort for them. I would make the very same choice to this day.
Love is not scared off by a little bit of wet dirt.
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