Sunday, May 23, 2021

DailyKenn.com —About fifty years ago I stopped by my girlfriend's house unannounced; just thought I'd pop in and say, "Hello."

There was Bob. 

Bob was a college guy, a few years older than me. 

Not to worry. Bob's button had come off his jacket and he had asked my girl to sew it back on for him. Yeah. Right. I don't know when that conversation occurred, but it must have been a consensual agreement: The two would rendezvous at her home to perform the textile surgery. 

After that, things were never the same. 

Some call it the 'butterfly affect.' A little thing turns into a bigger thing and escalates from there. 

Who would have known that a loose button on a random college guy's jacket would be a seminal event that redirected my life. 

I saw her photo the other day. It was stuffed in one of those shoe boxes full of photographs from years past. She was beautiful then and, I suppose, is still beautiful today. She had no idea how much I loved her. Even when she was not with me, I felt she was part of my very being. 

She was more than attractive. She was truly a good person; never temperamental and always centered. I loved driving through the streets of Indianapolis with her by my side: Hold hands, shift; hold hands, shift. (That was before seat belt laws). I seldom drive the Chevy anymore. I can't help seeing her there; still sixteen-years-old. And me? Pushing 70. 

How different life would have been had that button never pulled loose. Would my precious wife now be wed to another? Would our children and their children not exist? Would some other people -- people never conceived -- have taken their places?

My Christian friends will chalk it up to providence. "All things work together for good," they will say. God somehow arranged for the button to pop lose to gently pry us apart and move in directions according to His will and not our own.

My memories of the past fifty years would have been different memories. The photos in the box would have been different people at different places at different times. 

Shall I blame myself for walking away from her? After all, it may have been a simple misunderstanding. The shocked and embarrassed look on her mother's face when I entered the door said otherwise. But who knows? I could have talked to her rather than been a jerk. We may have worked things out. We may have turned that event into more than mending a button. It could have mended a relationship that would have lasted a lifetime. More likely we would have parted ways amicably.

So, I admit I was a jerk. We should have talked. I was young, dumb, and didn't know how to handle relationships. In a word, I was immature. 

What was I thinking back then? I don't think I was thinking. There was a little bit of hurt with a smaller amount of anger and loads of confusion. I didn't think about it. I just reacted, walked away, and went gray rock. That was very selfish of me. I should have known better, but I didn't. 

I owe her an apology. But I don't want forgiveness. I want agreement. I'd like to hear her say, "Yes, Kenn, you were a jerk."

Things worked out. I met and married the most phenomenal woman on earth. It's like lightening striking twice. What are the chances?

It's water under the bridge. It's a lost opportunity. 

While I can't go back in time and make things right, I can learn from my past. Seeing that old photo reminded me that opportunities come every day to make things right before they go wrong. I have opportunities today to kiss my wife, express my love, and make sure that mending needs never take place. 

I don't want tomorrow's memories be of today's mistakes.

Still, that doesn't excuse my being a jerk. And so, wherever you are, I'd like to say that I'm truly sorry for walking away without saying a word and that I truly loved you. You deserved to be treated much better and, quite frankly, you deserved someone better. Knowing you, I'm sure you found him. 

I only wish I could go back in time and say 'goodbye' the right way.

200 latest news reports from 100 top conservative websites

0 comments: