Stand up
29 Jan
It was early morning and for a woman who doesn’t take sales as seriously as her gender shoulds her to take them, I was on my way to Zara.It was pouring down with rain. A fitting tribute to the state of my mind. Feeling pessimistic, I was surprised to find a parking space only ten short steps away from my destination. Most spaces in Athens require parallel parking; a manoeuvre that I have just about mastered and could do with my eyes half closed.
On this particular day however my over confidence got the better of me. It could have been the rain, it could have been the greyness of my mood and the earliness of the morning but as I reversed and turned, I nipped the stationary car next to me.
It was early, cold and raining and there was no one else on the road. Not a single soul. My instinct was to jump out and inspect the damage I had caused. Thankfully, it was minimal; nothing a paint job couldn’t fix. No indentations just a tiny scratch. I then took a photo of my handiwork. Still not a single soul. I felt that I needed a presence; some other person to tell me what to do. Perhaps, a crowd. To condone me for my appalling parking skills or to applaud me for my humanity.
But as with most events in my life, it was just me, the rain and this drama I had created.
‘I could leave and no one would ever know it was me‘ I thought.
Instead, I parked (making sure not to hit him again) and wrote a note on the back of a receipt.
Dear Black Astra Driver,
I am so sorry. I accidentally bumped into the left side of your car as I was parking. My number is [redacted]. Please call me. I’d like to make it up to you. Again, I am so sorry!
I left the note on his windshield and went home. My shopping plans canceled. Thankful that the darkness of my mood was now–at the very least–confirmed by a concrete reason.
My number was never used for reasons I do not understand. But every now and again, I think of that day. My action and then my reaction. I think about the way that I took responsibility. I think about that thought that ran through my mind while I was there in the moment. How easy it could have been to avoid, to ignore, to deny and to carry on shopping because there was no other human around to notice the damage I had caused. How easy it would be to carry on living and never acknowledge the inconvenience I may have caused another person.
And then I think about the men (and friends) that have denied me a conversation. I think about the people that have refused to take responsibility for the scars they have left me. I have defended these people because that is the way I am wired. I can find a justification to almost all the bad things that have been done to me. Tragic [and extreme] case in point: I can find no hatred within me for the person who stabbed my father to death. This was the early 90s in South Africa; apartheid was the parent of all black people and my father was white. His dying will never be justified to me. But–in my mind–the actions of the man who held that knife can be justified by that much larger social issue.
But then I realize that I had a choice on that day. A split second choice between running away or admitting I made a mistake and accepting the consequences. Whatever those may have been. If I had that choice, then most of us [barring the sociopaths among us] have that choice. And I think to myself that I’d like to meet a man who takes responsibility for his actions. A man who mans up and has the awkward conversation with me. I am not interested in a person who has witnessed the pain they have caused me and chosen to look the other way. I am not interested in a person who takes the easy way out. [Even though I can understand the reasons that they do.]
Some may argue that this is a high expectation. But I think it is probably the very least we should expect from one another.
Some compassion.
A little acknowledgment of our own mistakes.
Some sort of sincere regret.
I’ll take it.
Even if it is in the form of a hastily written apology on the back of a forgotten receipt stuffed underneath a windshield wiper.
Brilliantly written. Absolutely brilliant.
I’ve been broken up with by a man who chose to just disappear and never own up to causing any of the pain and agony that he caused.
I’ve been broken up with by a man who answered every time I called and asked ‘why?’ Showed up every time I said I just needed a hug or to see him one more time. He answered every tough question I had, more than once. He took responsibility for my tears.
What I found is that it hurts just as much either way. The only difference is that you are left with respect for one and not the other. But it still hurts.
I wholeheartedly agree. This behavior should be the RULE, not the exception. Sadly, not everyone thinks that way.
“A man who mans up and has the awkward conversation with me. ”
A-FREAKING-MEN!!
Often I think that you and I were brought together for a specific reason: I think we are teaching each other.
Yet again, even through something as simple as a blog, I am the pupil.
I’ve learnt a lot from you in such a short space of time and I don’t think I’ve ever thanked you for it.
So thank you.
Oh my gosh. This is, without a doubt, one of the best things I have read in so long, for so many reasons.
First, the car incident: the same (almost exact) thing happened to me when I was 17… They never used my number either (I also included a $20 for paint – I felt that bad!) but I think if I hadn’t done something, I would have always felt guilty.
Second: Because I do try so hard to take responsibility of my actions (a result of the pain I’ve felt over the people who hurt me and never took responsibility), I tend to be that much more hurt when someone else doesn’t. My ex never appologized; for anything. It broke my heart and always left me feeling wounded and wondering why he didn’t care enough to just say “sorry.” I appologized a million times for the things I had done wrong; why couldn’t he just once?
So yes, I too want a man who can take responsibility for his actions. A man who can be a man.
And in regards to the comment you left me today: the menopause shots leave me feeling tired more than anything, and I too always feel like an old lady because all I want to do is sleep. I know my friends try to understand, but it is so hard for them to “get” when I used to be so energetic and up for anything… Being an old lady at 26 blows!
so very well written Hope, i couldn’t agree more. a man that takes responsibility for his actions is definitely the kind of man worth being with.