Earlier this summer, an old high school friend and her husband, whom I hadn’t seen for 40 years, stopped by on their way from northern Indiana to their home in Atlanta. I was a bridesmaid in their wedding 49 years ago.
During our visit, my friend shared a picture of me at 20, in a light-blue gown, proceeding into their wedding ceremony at our hometown’s United Methodist Church. A lightning strike could not have affected me more than seeing that old picture.
Growing up, I always compared myself to others
I met my friend and her younger sister while we worked at the local drive-in, a staple of 1970s Indiana. As carhops, we wore silver coin…
