It was just before midnight, and my 13-year-old daughter and I were stranded in a poorly-lit parking lot behind an IHOP as a strange car approached. We were several miles from home when the disintegrating driver’s side front tire gave us no choice but to stop right there. She looked at me uneasily as my mind raced through options.
The chapters of our lives, as is the case in books, often come with plot twists.
In this chapter, I’d surprised my daughter by showing up just after supper with a pair of tickets to see her favorite musician, Ellie Goulding. After a quick farewell from her mother, I whisked Rosie away. The venue was in Grand Prairie, Tx, and I’d gotten us a suite.
There we were, taking in our unimpeded sight line from the privacy of our posh seats. Though I was familiar with Goulding’s music, I’d never seen a concert with such choreography and theatrical presentation. It was impressive. Ms. Goulding danced, changed outfits, played guitar, and connected gratefully with the packed house while still singing with the voice of an angel.
Yes, it was a school night (Monday, in fact), and this meant a late bedtime for both of us. But as happens when I attend baseball games, time seemed to stop while we took in this magical gift.
When the show was over, we exhausted but elated fans filed out. What greeted the two of us, however, was an even more unexpected plot twist: a flat tire. I aired it up and crossed my fingers that it would get us the 11-ish miles to home.
We had made it only a few miles when the tire lost all air. I have the good sense to avoid dark parking lots in the middle of the night, but I had no choice. Thus began a near-constant decision-making process: Do I take 20+ minutes to put on the spare with only 10-15 minutes of driving left? I had decided to take a chance on refilling the tire, again, as it was our quickest route out of this unsafe place.
So as the strange car slowly made its way towards us, I hustled Rosie into the passenger seat, tossed the pump in the back, and was quickly back in motion. The other car hadn’t so much as parked.
My decision was stressful, however, as the tire required several more refills (none of which were in such a dicey location). Still we got home.
That was 10 years ago today, and I remain grateful for having had the chance to share that with her, flat tire and all.
In estrangement, as is the case with many difficult points in a lifetime, a person may file the memories away in some mental box labeled “bad–do not open.” I understand, and I’ve certainly done it. But if you are able to focus on the good memories within, remember that you have permission to do exactly that.
