The new gateless gate at Orono Stadium
When I was a teen, my mom gave me some very wise advice: When in a conflict or disagreement or power-struggle, always leave your adversary a graceful way out, always let them leave with dignity. I cannot tell you how often this advice has proven invaluable.
I wish I could claim such was my intent when I wrote of my impaled wheelchair in my last blog. It was not. I was not trying to bring about change at the Orono Stadium. I was not thinking of the Orono school administration as the adversary. Instead, I was just telling a funny and beautiful story about the caring “faces” of humanity that I encountered. I was especially telling this sweet and absurd story on the heels of my previous blog about not being helped to pee on a transatlantic airline flight. I wanted to write a true story about encountering the good in people.
Imagine my surprise when my phone rang just days after posting about my impaled wheelchair. My caller ID said, “Orono Schools.” As a parent of a school-aged kid, there is always a sinking feeling when ‘the school’ calls in the middle of the day. To my relief, the call was from the director of facilities. Someone had forwarded him the picture from my blog and he thought, “Boy, that stadium in the background looks familiar.” He clicked on the link and read my story….much to his horror. He was calling to apologize and did so gracefully and vociferously. He was also calling to inform me of his solution. He removed the fencing from “the wider, more utilitarian” locked gate. It took less than ten minutes. He told me I should have not problem attending the section finals the following night. (See picture above). We had a wonderful conversation, both hopeful and apologetic.
I was surprisingly tickled by the result. I did not set out to shame Orono facilities management. I did not tell my story to point out an injustice. I wrote that story because of the touching humanity that ensued when a simple injustice was encountered and solved by caring faces of humanity.
I believe in the power of story. We need good stories, not just painful ones, to help us change. As I listened to this man’s heartfelt apology and his immediate solution, I felt proud to be my mother’s son.