I Was Wrong…

It’s not the easiest thing to admit. Right? It’s hard enough to tell someone they were right, but even harder to admit you were wrong. Especially if you have to say it out loud. Sure, it makes the situation better, but it kills your pride. But what’s the reason? Just to feel like we have the upper hand?

One day when I was in high school, I had a minor fender bender in the school parking lot. I was 16 or 17 and it was Senior Skip Day. I wasn’t a senior that year, but neither were 80% of the kids skipping that day. Like the good kid I was, I asked for permission from my parents to skip (At least I think I did. If I didn’t, sorry Mom!). I think I had plans with my high school best friend or maybe to go to the salon my mom worked at to get my hair or nails done.

As I’m leaving the school parking lot, I see a group of my friends gathered around getting ready to leave and I pull over to where they’re all parked at. I put my car in park and started running my mouth about who knows what. A few minutes later, a car hit the side of my car. I don’t remember now if he backed into me and if he was moving forward, but all I knew then was my dad was going to kill me! I knew I wasn’t in the wrong, but I still had a fear in me that somehow this would end up being my fault because I was skipping school when I technically wasn’t supposed to be! There wasn’t much damage to my car. There was dent about the size of a basketball in the side of my shiny black Camaro, and I knew a man at home that was going to be mad.

My plans were shot at that point, so I drove home and let my parents know what happened. I don’t remember my dad being mad, but he did take my car away and told me that if the police report ended up showing that it was my fault, I was going to lose my car for a while. The next few days were hell not being able to drive myself anywhere.

On the third day of having no car, I was at work after school on a Friday. I worked your typical teenager job back then: the drive-thru at McDonald’s. I remember that it was a slow day at work, and I was watching the passing cars out the window when I see a black Camaro pull into a parking space near my window. My dad gets out and walks directly toward me. Without saying a word, he hands me my keys and says, “you were right,” and turns around and walks away.

My dad set an example for me that day. An example that’s not always to follow, but an example that I try hard to remember. It’s so very hard sometimes to give someone the pleasure of knowing they were right, but is that really what matters?

Happy Friday, friends. Thank God it’s Friday!


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