It’s funny the way some things just seem to happen in your life. I forget who was the first person to tell me, “that’s just the way life goes,” but that will stick with me forever.

Nearly two months ago marked the year anniversary of my first concussion, but I remember it like it was yesterday.

I had just completed my last final, and I was ready to party one last night before returning home for the summer. I casually drank the night away until nearly 2 a.m.

It was at this time that I noticed all my friends had left me. I left the party and began walking casually down a dark alley by myself. I understand that this wasn’t one of the most brilliant decisions I’ve made, but apparently I thought that nothing could ever happen to me.

I was nearly home when I heard footsteps behind me running faster and faster. I turned to see who was approaching, thinking it was a friend playing catch up. What I was met with was a fist knocking me to the ground.

I was laying flat on my back in the middle of the alley. Blood trickled from the corner of my mouth and flowed down my neck to the rocks below.

I stumbled the last two blocks home thinking, “even if I wanted to report this to the police, what could I tell them?”

According to the Eastern Illinois University Annual Security Report, in 2007 there were only 3 reported cases of aggravated assault.

The Charleston Police Department’s 2008 Annual Report states that there were 44 aggravated assault and/or battery cases in 2008 and 24 cases in 2007.

Two months ago I had a similar situation happen to me.

The door to my bedroom busted open around 2 a.m., and there stood my neighbor. He informed me that a mutual friend was about to get into a fight in front of our houses.

I rushed outside to see our mutual friend holding a pizza box. He was irate and was claiming that a group of other college-aged adults half a block away tried stealing his pizza.

Confused, I stepped in as a mediator while one black man approached me from the dimly lit street. I squinted as I tried to see who approached while my friend shouted derogatory, racially charged comments from behind me.

I spun around and faced my friend, and I told him there was no need for comments such as these. I spun back around with my hands to my side and asked the man what exactly was going on here. Apparently he wasn’t willing to speak with me, and instead he met my words with knuckles.

Is a sucker punch the new past time? Was it my fault for being in these situations?

Although both reasons are valid, I would simply say that this is just life. Sometimes you have to just learn to roll with the punches.

Brad York is a senior journalism major. He can be reached at DENopinion@gmail.com or 581-7942.