There’s nothing like a good ol’ tire blowout to remind you why you’re happy you live in the South. Thursday, on my way to class, I heard the all-too-familiar sound of a flat tire thump-thump-thumping away over the oldies station playing through my car speakers.
Within 10 minutes of pulling to the side of the road to check out the damage, four different people stopped to offer help. Because this is my life and not that of some well-prepared planner, my spare tire is a piece of garbage, which left me stranded.
Thankfully, about a quarter-mile back, a favorite fast food restaurant made for a nice place to chill while I waited for my husband to come to the rescue, something I’m proud to say he did without question or complaint.
Then, just to reiterate how amazing people are down here, while he worked on the tire, a couple of young men sporting the high and tight stopped and offered their help to a fellow soldier. How cool is that?
Had a similar thing happened in my small hometown, I could have knocked on any door and felt confident I’d receive an offer of assistance, but as an outsider to this place, the idea of being stuck on the side of the road is unnerving.
I’ve seriously put some thought into pursuing a career as a country songwriter in the near future. If “stranded at the side of the road, alone, pregnant and far from home” doesn’t have a nice ring to it — especially when you add in an acoustic guitar with perhaps a little banjo — I’m not sure what does.
Truly though, if there’s one place in this world that makes you feel at home, it’s this wonderful region that is the South, and I’m so happy to be a part of it — in good times and in bad.