The Fuzzy Pink Robe

This is my sister Tina in her white fuzzy robe.  Mine was just like it, but pink.
I don't have a picture of mine, but I wouldn't be surprised to find that Tina does!

When I was a young woman (somewhere between 14 and 16), I owned a fuzzy pink robe.  It was a Christmas present from my parents, and it was a luxury.  I loved having it.  I didn't need it really, I had gotten by without one for years.  I was blessed to always have the things I needed.  I had a good family, a good home, clothes to wear, and food to eat.  Buying clothes was up to me.  I was supposed to earn them by working.  I just couldn't afford too many, and I think that made me love the fuzzy robe even more.

I was blessed at this time to live near an Aunt and Uncle of mine, and all of their kids.  My cousin Julie was my very best friend, and I spent as much time with her as I could.  So, over Christmas vacation I had spent the night at her house, and had packed my fuzzy robe.  The next day was New Years Eve, and I was going with my cousins to a Stake Dance.  We lived in Missouri and our Stake Center (that's a church building) was about half hour away.  One of my cousins was driving, and I had my stuff tucked under my seat so that I would have it when they dropped me off at home after the dance.

I don't remember the dance at all, but on the way home, on a very cold night, our van was one of the first ones to come upon an accident.  A car, driven by a drunk driver, had flipped over and the man was thrown out of the car and he was lying in the median.  We hadn't been stopped for long before someone ran over and asked if we had a blanket, or anything that could be used to put over this hurt, unconcious man.  We had no blankets, but my thoughts went to my fuzzy pink robe.  I looked at my cousin, and she looked at me, and I knew that I should say something!  But, I really loved my robe and figured it would be ruined, and I would not be able to afford a replacement.  I hesitated, and soon the person left to ask the next car in line for a blanket.

I never told anyone this story for 20 years or more.  I was so ashamed to discover that I cared more about myself and having what I wanted than I cared for one of Heavenly Father's children who was hurt.  My robe became a reminder of my selfishness, and I didn't enjoy it after that. Eventually I gave it away, but this story reminds me that things are never more important than people, even if you might never be able to replace the thing. 

Eventually, for my birthday in 1990, my parents bought me another pink robe.  It was a really bright, beautiful one that I used occasionally until a year or so ago.  I realized that wearing sweat jackets in place of a robe is more my style.  I find them warmer, and less awkward if someone knocks on the door before I'm ready.  Still, I hope I will never forget the lesson I learned from my first fuzzy pink robe, and that I will never again put some thing that I love above somebody, no matter who they are.

 This is Derek in our first apartment wearing my new pink fuzzy robe.

I'm sure he was only wearing it to make me smile.  Don't you just admire the

wildness of the wall paper in the background?

 

**The details about the accident and the night I slept over at my cousin's house may be incorrect, but I did the best I could from my faulty memory!