How I tend to fail

Source

When I was in my teens, my sister, four years younger than me, was diagnosed with leukemia. She and my mother left to go to “Sick Kids,” a hospital in Toronto (Canada), three hours away. We did go to Toronto to visit Nancy and Mother on one occasion. This was the event that was the “failure,” but as in many events in my life, making a mistake has unusual consequences.

[My sister, Nancy, is the one with her arms folded]

While at the hospital, there were times I was ushered out of the room. I decided to do a little exploring, but I didn’t bother taking the elevators, preferring the exercise of taking the stairs. It was on returning from one of these forays; I made a mistake. I wasn’t paying attention, and I put my hand on a door handle for the wrong floor.

Before taking you through the door, I need to describe myself at that age. Most people wouldn’t think of me as a farmer’s son. I was wearing a brushed leather jacket I had purchased in Italy and wearing a tie that was in vogue. I wasn’t wearing what an ordinary person would wear to a hospital.

Back to the door. Have you ever seen the Mr. Bean sketch where he is lined up with several people in a theatre introduced to the Queen? Something similar happened to me. When I opened the door, I was immediately standing in a reception line for Queen Fabiola of Belgium (pictured above). That picture doesn’t do her justice. She was a charming woman in my eyes (for a queen, that is). She was greeting a person just a few steps away from me. I couldn’t retreat tactfully, so I stayed as if I was meant to be there. When she finally stood before me, I gave my best bow and received one from her, and she continued.

What could have been the most embarrassing episode, a terrible failure, has become something I chuckle about to myself often. Life is grand.