Time Travel Back to 1958

If I were able to go back in time to 1958 to the bedroom of an anxiety-ridden, self-conscious, love struck thirteen year-old girl just beginning seventh grade in a new school, what would I say? Oh, it all seems so crystal clear now, fifty-seven years later. I could say something that Hazel might say, "What you're fretting about is insignificant and silly. You're so young and you have your whole life ahead of you. Don't concern yourself about these childish things. Look at me; I'm old. Now that's something to worry about." Once I put everything into perspective for her, I'd head on back to 2016 on the next red eye. Well, I'm very busy, you know. I have things to do, places to go, people to avoid; I have a tail to chase.

Or, maybe I would take a different approach. Instead of focusing on my needs, my self-absorption, my agenda, my universe with me in the center, I could turn my attention to someone else for a change. And since I've already made the trip back in time to 1958 and to the bedroom of my younger self, I should stay awhile.

First if all, I'd have some explaining to do. Thirteen-year-old me is already a skeptic, she trusts no one and is always looking for the real motive behind most agendas. If I told her I was her at age seventy, what would be her reaction? I know she wouldn't scream because she has made a vow to never, ever, ever scream. I know she wouldn't hide under the covers; she's not a coward. Maybe she'd say nothing, giving me time to explain why I came to visit her at 10:00 o'clock at night on a school night.

Well, I've done it. I've made the trip back to 1958, but I didn't have much time to prepare a speech before I got there. The time-travel capsule was late, they didn't offer me a pillow or blanket, then they lost my luggage and the time-travel representative didn't even apologize. I can't sleep on planes or capsules, and when the capsule dropped me off on the front porch of my old house, the door was locked.  Luckily I remembered where my parents hid the key and I let myself in. Famished (they didn't serve snacks on the capsule) I fixed myself a peanut butter and jelly sandwich before tip-toeing down the hallway to the bedroom of my youth, and this is what happened. 

I listened. 

As it turned out, she had a lot to say. I sat on the edge of her bed, giving her my full attention, even though I had to pee like a drunken sailor. (They had a bathroom on the capsule but they were out of toilet paper.) She talked and talked and I thought about interrupting her several times to talk about me, talk abut me, talk about me, but I didn't. As I sat listening to her talk, the thought came to me that what she really needed was not someone to tell her that she shouldn't be concerned about what was happening in her life, because of course she should be concerned. It's her life. It's her struggles. It's the path that she will traverse with all of its obstacles and adversities that will mold her into the adult she will someday become; that would be me.  

At seventy my life is incredibly wonderful. Do I have some baggage? Doesn't everyone? I wouldn't change one thing in my life if that meant I wouldn't be where I am today...so I sat on my bed and listened to me talk. When it was time to go I reminded me to never forget I was special, and then I hugged me goodbye. I hated to see me go, but I'm very busy, you know. I have things to do, places to go, people to avoid, and then there's that tail of mine that needs to be chased.