In my sophomore year of college, I was driving to campus to take an exam, and I rear-ended the driver in front of me who was moving slowly through a traffic light. I was shaken and devastated. The damage to the other car was not that great in my astute 19-year-old estimation, but the damage to my mother’s car was significant. I was ashamed and scared, and I felt very, very alone.
The driver of the car and another man showed up at my part-time job a few days later with proof of repair costs. I remember feeling intimated by the two of them. The repair costs were in the $200-$300 range, and I raided, and decimated, my meager savings to pay the bill.
My mother’s car was another story. The autobody shop estimated the repairs at about $1000, far beyond anything I could afford to pay. I was faced with a dilemma: tell my mother about the accident and let her shoulder the financial and logistical burden of repairs, or, devise a plan to fix the car myself. My mother lived and worked in Louisville, Kentucky, about two hours away. I only saw her a couple of times a month, so I had a short window of opportunity.
I procured a second part-time job at a blood donation center, and every night after college classes and my day job at a research laboratory, I pricked fingers and tested blood hemoglobin levels. At 9:00 p.m., I would drive home and collapse on the couch, often sleeping in my clothes until morning. I found a bank that was willing to loan me $1000, and I paid for the car repairs. I made the loan payments religiously for a year, and I remember walking triumphantly into the bank with my final payment.
I’ve read debates about whether character is built through adversity or whether character is revealed by life’s hardships. I’m in the former camp. I don’t believe that moral fabric is embedded in a person’s DNA; it is built, brick by brick, by being tested, making hard decisions, and painstakingly carrying them out. I made a mistake, and I didn’t feel like anyone else should suffer for it. The accident created an opportunity for me to accept responsibility, formulate a plan to right it, and complete the plan. I learned that commitment is its own reward.
I look back with pride at this young girl, tested by life and responding with maturity in a process that was exacting and, ultimately, unnecessary. (I found out later, of course, that insurance would have paid for the repairs!) But a responsibility template is a tool that will get used repeatedly. I’m gratified now that I had the chance to painstakingly add to the foundation of adult integrity.
You don’t need to inherit character; just construct it! Brick by brick; build character, and it will come.