Learning the Hard Way

Most, if not all, of us have made mistakes. Although we know that slipups are necessary building blocks to knowledge, it doesn’t make it any easier. What’s that saying? The harder the lesson, the deeper the learning. Hmmm. I think that’s true.

I’ve had many hard lessons. Some are funny, some embarrassing, and some I’d rather forget. One that I’m thinking about today involves the ache in my knees. It’s January. It’s dark and cold. So, maybe I’d have aching knees regardless. But the truth is, a blunder in my youth still causes me pain.

When I was in high school, the fashion was a very short skirt worn with a tight-fitting top and high-knee socks and boots. On one particular occasion, in January, no less, my high school put on a winter dance. My friends and I were excited about going and maybe meeting up with a certain then-crush. I carefully picked out the shortest skirt I could find with matching knee socks and a close-fitting sweater to go with it, exposing my knees and lower thighs. I checked myself out in the bathroom mirror. Not bad.

I nonchalantly walked through the kitchen, trying to avoid conflict with my mother, who didn’t approve of those short skirts. I kept my head up. Just a few more steps, I’ll be at the front door, where I can grab my coat and rush outside to meet my friend.

“Wait a minute, young lady.” My mother had crept up behind me.

I turned. “Yeessss…” I drawled.

My mother lifted her eyebrows. “You can’t go out with your knees and legs exposed like that. It’s -20 degrees, and the temperatures will fall more overnight.”

“Oh. I’ll be okay. I’ve got a ride, so it’ll just be a minute before I’m inside the high school,” I argued.

“With who?”

I told her my friend’s father was driving us to the dance. She seemed satisfied with that answer but wasn’t sold on my outfit.

“Everyone’s wearing short skirts, Mom.” I continued to defend my position, citing its importance. “If I can’t wear the skirt, I won’t fit in.” I shrugged. “I won’t go, then.”

That did it. She consented. “Okay. As long as you have a ride there and back.”

I quickly put on my coat, grabbed my mitts, and was out the door before my friend’s father could honk his horn. He dropped us off at the dance’s main entrance, and we were only outside for a minute or two. What’s the big deal?

I don’t recall much about the dance or whether I had a good time. What I do remember is at the end of the dance, I couldn’t find my friend.

An acquaintance informed me. “Lizzy left early. Didn’t she tell you?”

Oh, no! What am I going to do? I asked a few friends, but they couldn’t help me, and I felt too shy to ask people I didn’t know. I told myself I’d bundle up, walk as fast as possible, and take a shortcut. I’ll be okay.

It was cold. Really cold. I stopped a few times to rub my legs. My legs were numb when I got to the cutoff in the woods. I could hardly feel them. At one point, it seemed I might not be able to move. It scared me, so I started to run. Fast.

When I opened the front door, I collapsed. “Mom,” I called.

My mother took one look at my white knees and lower thighs. “You need to get your legs in warm water right away.”

I started to cry. “I’m sorry.”

I think I crawled to the bathtub. After a lengthy soak to warm the skin, my mother wrapped my legs in warm, then hot blankets. She didn’t seem mad. I don’t know which felt better. The feeling that came back into my legs or that my mother thought I’d probably already learned my lesson and didn’t say much besides muttering something about frostbite.

My knees ached throughout that winter. I stopped wearing short skirts. I kept (and still keep) my body covered in the cold. I didn’t act as if I knew it all (as much anyway). It didn’t matter who was right. It was about what is right.

“It is unwise to be too sure of one’s own wisdom.” Mahatma Gandhi

“Life is a succession of lessons which must be lived to be understood.” Helen Keller

Enjoy the Passage of Time.

Sharon

© 2025. Sharon Kreider. All Rights Reserved.