Do-Overs

Do-Overs


Looking back (as oldsters often do), my first major mistake in life was marrying the wrong guy straight out of high school. Back then, this was the fastest way to get out of a household where I was being physically and sexually abused. At the age of 18, what did I know about the frying pan-to-fire concept? Even after 7 years of marital misery, however, I have to say I’d do it over again if I had to, in order to end up with the two sons he gave up but I held onto. I’d simply do it differently. I would have ended the marriage sooner.

Later, at one point during my college years, I realized no matter how much I learned I’d never know it all, or even know enough (by my own standards), so I dropped out. Truth be told, I was too busy living life to actually learn more about it. On second thought, however, I did learn… from “the best teacher of all - experience.” I eventually got back on the academic track and was more receptive and responsive due to the respite.

After my first baby was born I was told any future births should be by c-section. I was able to avoid that the second time around, by spending my 8th month in bed and having labor induced a week early to keep the baby’s size down. At that point, the doctor told me I should not have more children period. I totally forgot his advice when, many years later, Frank and I had been married five months and we decided to have a baby together (his only child). She was an emergency c-section, which happened so suddenly the anesthesia hadn’t even taken effect. They say we forget pain, but I remember that one all too clearly. Would I do it over gain? Of course! There are worse things in life than having your belly sliced side to side in order to bring new life into the world. :-)
There were two junctures where I made difficult judgment calls I do deeply regret, and would “do over,” were I given the chance. They are too personal too divulge in detail, but suffice it to say I will carry the guilt as a constant reminder that circumstances can sometimes be too weighty during our younger years, to allow wisdom to prevail. I pay that price justifiably, and therapeutically. Meaning lessons learned… even if the hard way.

In my late forties I made a career choice I also regret. I was so happy at home -- keeping house, fixing meals, baking pies from scratch, and packing lunches for my husband and teens (including some who had nowhere else to live, so we took them in). But I was lured back into the workplace for all the wrong reasons. Mainly money -- a large law firm made me an offer I couldn’t refuse. I was out of my element and, although I was good at doing my job, I was lousy at playing the game (office politics). Under the influence of too many beers, one of the attorneys once told my husband, “The trouble with Ginny is she sees through our bullshit.” I did, and I paid the price for that. But then so did they because I left of my own accord, hitting them right where it hurt -- in their pocketbook. If I had it to do over again, however, I would have turned down the job at the onset. It wasn’t worth it.

So, to quote Sinatra, Regrets, I’ve had a few, but then again, too few to mention. Except that mention them I did, lol. Regrets are a part of life. My theory is that anyone who doesn’t have some tucked away in their psyche, hasn’t lived life fully enough. Thankfully, no one who knows me will ever accuse me of that!

Ketchup? No thank you.

We went out to dinner the other night at our favorite Mexican food restaurant. It was early, 4:30 or so, and the place was empty except for two other tables that were occupied. In my line of sight was a young mom and dad with a new baby, and a boy around age four who sat next to his mom.

I couldn't see the baby at first because she was in a carrier, which was covered by a lightweight pink blanket. But I could hear her. A tiny little cry, not at all annoying but, in my world view, actually a sweet sound. When the dad took her out of the carrier and rested her over one shoulder, I couldn't take my eyes off her adorable face and those tiny pink fingers that wrapped around one of her father's fingers.

The mom saw me watching with a smile on my face. I said, "I'm really not a stalker, I just love babies." She laughed and we exchanged a few more words of social content. I made it a point to ask the baby's name, age, etc., and added "She's lucky to have a big brother. Big brother's are very important!" The four-year-old beamed.

I then began paying more attention to him. I'm not sure what he was eating, but whatever it was apparently needed ketchup, and his parents let him pour it on for himself, telling him when to stop. They then turned their attention back to their own plates, and that was when I saw the little guy pick up the ketchup bottle, put it to his lips, lick it and quickly set it back down. I laughed out loud, (glad that I'm not a person who puts ketchup on my Mexican food)!

Frank and I chatted a bit as we ate our meal, but occasionally I checked in visually to see how the little family was doing. The baby was asleep and put back in her carrier, and the boy, done with his food, was getting restless so he climbed down from his chair and wandered to the unoccupied table next to them, where he layed back on a chair looking up at the underneath of the table. He reached up, grabbed something, and pulled.

A looooong skinny strand of chewed gum followed his hand, stuck to his fingers, and, delighted, he said, "Daddy! Look!" Frank and I were both laughing as his mom took the little guy to the restroom to wash his hands. Our waiter showed up at that moment with our bill, and I said, pointing to the strand of gray gunk drooping toward the floor, "You have some chewing gum to clean up." He made quick work of it, as the father apologized.

Frank stuck some bills in the folder on our table, and as we walked by the family I'd been watching I stopped, put my hand on the dad's shoulder, smiled, and said, "Thanks for the entertainment. It was great."

I'll watch for them next time I eat there, but what are the odds I could get that lucky again? Just the memory of them will bring a smile to my lips, I'm sure, and will remind me not to use the ketchup.