Do-Over

For Memoir/Autobiography, I'm reading a book called "Do-Over!" by Robin Hemley. This man is 48 and goes back to better his experiences through his childhood. For example, his kindergarten teacher was a tyrant/ended up being thrown into the loony bin, and treated the guy very poorly. So at 48 and with 3 kids, he enrolls in kindergarten (after a long process of paper work, background check, etc.) for a week. I haven't gotten far into the book, but he also does the same for summer camp, prom (which should be verrry interesting), etc.

Question: What would I do over? What would I, at 21, currently do to better an experience?

--I, too, would go back to kindergarten, hoping to encounter a much better teacher. My teacher, Mrs. Lonas, was nice, I think. She was old and scary. I peed my pants almost every day for fear of having to ask her a question. (Back then, I didn't talk to grown-ups. I was shy.) I also cried every day because I missed Mom, but that ended when the Lonas told me she would send me to Mrs. Coots (aka: Mrs. Toots) the principal if I didn't stop crying.

--I would go back to my last gymnastics class at age 7, when my dad told me I was done with gymnastics because it was softball season. I was good and in a class with high school girls. I was 7, had perfected the back-handspring, and almost did a back tuck by myself when Dad yanked me out of the program. I would say, "No, Dad. I'm staying. I'll play softball, but taking gymnastics over the course of several years will also help me to maintain muscle tone when I grow 5 1/2 inches between 7th and ith grade, thus causing my muscles to stretch out too fast, which will eventually cause many injuries throughout high school and college. I'm staying."

--I would go back to the summer before my freshman year of college, when my sister got married. I would do a much better job of planning her showers and try a little harder to ease stress, not to provoke more. (This was my first wedding, so I was highly inexperienced.)

--I would go back to a random day when I was little, my sister and terribly manipulative cousins persuaded me to pick up these "special rocks" by our neighbors goat farm. "But those are goat poops," I said. "No, stupid, those are rocks,' one of the cousins said. My sister encouraged me to pick them up, too. Maybe that's why I didn't try so hard at her wedding. (Joke, Kelly. Just a joke.) So I did, and they laughed. "You're such an idiot, Jamie," one of them said. I hated hanging out with them, but I had no one else my age. Well, actually, I did. My two other cousins and my brother were more my age, but for some reason, they weren't there that day. So I would go back to that moment, pick up those goat turds and pellet them in the face. I would try to smash those turds up their nose, into their mouth, in their pockets, in their earholes. Ohhhhh, victory.

--I would go back to a revival at my church when countless people would come up to me and my sister and constantly ask us questions. Were we lost? saved? going to hell? confused? going to heaven? ignoring God's knockin? listening to the preacher? listening to them? wanting to go to the altar? wanting to pray? And I would tell them to leave us alone. Tell them they were embarrassing me, making me angry, making me feel victimized and confused and very turned-off to their ways.

--I would go back to a time when I was about 12, filling up Sandy's water bucket. There was a dirt dobber in the bucket, and I didn't want Sandy to drink it, so I started fetching it out with my hand. The bug latched onto my middle finger and rear-ended its stinger into my tender little pad of a finger. I remember staring wildly with disbelief at this Dirt Dobber con. Stupid wasp! You tricked me! I starting shaking my hand frantically, hoping all that wind and air I was creating would heal the hurt. I ran across the back yard, finding Mom and Dad working in the yard, and I was crying--no, blubbering about this wasp and how my middle finger was throbbing. I'm pretty sure this cultivated my hidden fear of bugs. It's like I'm afraid I'll start trailing a ladybug with my finger, then it will suddenly morph into a terrible wasp Transformers-style and then I'm screwed. So I would go back and leave the wasp alone.