It was the fall of 1968. I was twenty years old and had just recently
moved from my hometown of Winnipeg, Manitoba, Canada to the “big city” of
Vancouver, B.C., Canada. I had moved
there in May 1968 with two girlfriends who sadly gave up the idea of a fun and
grown up experience and moved back home by September, so I was now on my
own. I was incredibly shy and
introverted, so it was a big step I was taking living without family or
friends. Fortunately, I had my religion
and I was diligently attending services each Sunday. One Sunday in October, it was announced that
there would be a dance that coming Saturday in the gym. I was excited to meet new friends so I
planned to go. That Saturday came and I
was ready…I parked my car in the church parking lot, checked my hair in the
rear view mirror, grabbed my purse and water bottle and headed to the door of
the church. No problem getting in the
church. As I was approaching the gym I
could see bunches of kids laughing and talking together in groups. I took a deep breath for courage, quickened
my steps and walked straight into the glass doors separating the gymnasium from
the hallway! Everyone on the other side
stopped talking and turned to watch me peel myself off the door, leaving pretty
messy looking face and hand prints on the glass. I must have turned and headed out because I
do not remember anything at all about the rest of the night. Did I go home? I don’t remember. Did I stay for the dance? I don’t remember. So much for being brave…within a month or
two, I, too, packed up and moved back home to the warm and comforting arms of
my family.
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