Photo: My mom and me. I was 4.
Most of us gained an hour back this past Saturday night. I can’t say I used it all that wisely – I simply treated it as an extra add-on to my sleep. Maybe you did, too.
But for some reason, I’ve been thinking about some “extra hours” from my life I’d love to have back. Relive. Even 60 minutes of these moments would be, well, beyond words.
I’d love 60 minutes of being back in the family home I grew up in. I’d be something like five-years-old, which would put my four older brothers ages ranging from 9 to 13. Mom and Dad would be 40. Everyone would be healthy. It would be a routine 60 minutes on a weekend. Mom would likely be either in the kitchen or doing laundry. Or both. Dad would have us boys outside, doing yardwork. We’d all have an assigned job. Even me. I’d feel the fleecey-feel of my sweatshirt against my skin. And the band of sweat around my head – wearing an older brother’s stocking hat. The last thing I’d likely hear was my dad telling us to take off our shoes before we went inside for lunch.
I’d give the world for one last hour with my mom during the last 10 days of her life. She was 49. I was 14. It never registered with me that, even though she was in the ICU, she could die. Moms didn’t die. So many things that I never told her. So many things that I didn’t ask her. In that refound hour, I’d cover all those bases.
I’d grab a moment or time when I was 12 or so. I’d tell myself to try more things. I’d tell myself that failure is how you learn. And that no one – at least any one of importance – is going to laugh at you.
I’d welcome reliving 20 minutes each at the births of my three children. I still do vividly remember each of them, for sure. Perhaps now that I’m a grandfather, the whole miracle-of-life thing has a deeper meaning to me. I’d love to rewitness each of their debuts, the first time I held them – and just gaze at them knowing what I know now. Knowing that each of them would become my greatest gift. And my greatest pride.
The next hour I’d love to recapture would be a toss up: Either an hour of making Halloween costumes for my children or an hour hosting a kid’s birthday party. I went deep in both of those activities when I was a young dad. And I loved making memories for my threesome. I used to think, back then, that I’d write a book documenting the best-of-my-best. Maybe in the final minutes of that hour I’d actually start writing that book.
And while I’m at it, how about one more hour of a family vacation when the kids were small. It doesn’t matter which one – we had many. But let’s pick what turned into an annual summer trip to Catalina Island off the cost of California. We spent many summers meeting our California cousins on that tiny island. Many years. Many weeks. Many days. And many hours. The hour I’d recapture was one of our nightly treks to the local ice cream shop. Olafs. All of us would go. Aunts. Uncles. And cousins galore. And we’d sit outside on the low stone wall and lick every last dripping drip. Mine, cookie dough.
I could go on and on.
But I’ve now been writing for about an hour. And I’m realizing that, as opposed to be writing about all the time I’d like back, I should travel back to the present. And live the hour in front of me.
But before we say goodbye, can I have one more hour back?
That would take me back to the early 1980s, when I had just graduated from college, and take an hour to figure out how to scrape together the $1,000 a fraternity buddy invited me to invest with him in some unknown Swiss watch company whose name was Swatch. That would have been an hour worth my time. Ha!
Jim Higley is the co-founder of Puffer Hug, a company whose mission is to connect the world with kindness, one hug at a time. Learn more about Puffer Hug here.