Regrets? Yeah, I've Had a Few.

Regrets? Yeah, I’ve Had a Few.

                                                                 “Regrets are the natural property of grey hairs.”

                                                                                                    -Charles Dickens

Perfection evaded me throughout most of my life, so yes, I have much to apologize for. It is uncomfortable to bare my soul to people I’ve never met, but I guess sometimes things are written more for the benefit of the writer than for the reader- a catharsis of the soul. Let’s see how this goes.                                                                                                   

Regrettable moments are more memorable than happy times. That is the curse of growing old. Per the suggestion of Maria von Trapp, a/k/a Julie Andrews, let’s start at the very beginning, or at least as far back as I can remember.

Dear Miss Finn (My Kindergarten Teacher),

I have mixed feelings about my very first apology. You may not remember, but you ratted me out one day when we were playing hide-and-go-seek. I cleverly hid behind the door in the utility closet, Timmy looked in the closet and didn’t find me there, and then you said, “Are you sure he’s not in there?” That was low, Miss Finn. (Although seeing as how Timmy wasn’t the brightest bulb in class, I might still be languishing behind that door if you hadn’t sold me out.) So, regardless of your blatant violation of well-established rules of fair play and human decency, I am sorry I willfully ignored the clanging of your hand-held bell signifying the end of recess and took one last belly-flop run into the big swing. I’m sorry. (I’m still waiting for your apology for your hide-and-go-seek act of treachery.)

Dear Gibbsy (My dog),

It was my fault. When I saw you in the next-door neighbor’s yard, I instinctively called your name. You instinctively ran home. Unfortunately, the only way home was through the back alley. Also, unfortunately, old lady Plant chose that exact time to drive down the alley to one of her never-ending doctor’s appointments (Probably her eye doctor.) The sound of you flopping around in her wheel-well still haunts me. We were all glad you lived, but I feel terrible about your broken leg. I’m sorry.

Dear Big Brother,

I’m sorry for all those times I hit you, kicked you, and threw things at you. I took unfair advantage of the fact you were five years older than me, and the age gap rendered you a sitting duck. I’m also sorry for yelling MOM!! every time you tried to defend yourself. I’m sorry.

Dear Music Teacher,

I’m sorry for the year I put you through trying to teach me how to play the saxophone. Looking back on it, I now realize it must have been harder on you than it was on me. I hope it wasn’t because of me that you left St. Mary’s and took a job at the Post Office. I’m sorry.

Dear Dad,

I know you were thrown into an awkward position when Mom had her gallbladder surgery. I should have been more sensitive to you being saddled with the additional responsibilities of maintaining the household, doing the laundry, packing school lunches, and preparing our meals. My ill-conceived attempts to find humor in your shakey efforts were clearly inappropriate. In particular, I regret lying to you about eating the plateful of Navy Beans you made for me for dinner one night. I also regret getting some of the Navy Beans goop on your nice hat when I put it over the plate of beans in a futile attempt to fool you into thinking I ate the beans. I’m sorry.

Dear Johnny C.,

I’m sorry I drove your bike into a brick wall while we were doing crazy daredevil stunts. That was a dumb thing to do. I never would have thought the top bar on the frame would break in half. It was too bad your Dad couldn’t afford to get you a new bike on his Minister’s salary. Looking back on it, I also probably should have let you use my cool three-speed once in a while. You would have liked riding it. I’m sorry.

Dear Mother,

I’m sorry I didn’t properly secure the top of my hamster’s cage. It was indeed unfortunate that you discovered my error in the middle of the night when it got in bed with you. I’m sorry.

Dear Sister Mary Martin,

It was me and not Eddie D. who put the Whoopie Cushion on your chair. That was a very immature thing for me to do. That must have been embarrassing for you, especially since Father Jacobs happened to be in the room when you sat on it. I also regret joining in the uproarious laughter that followed. I’m sorry.

Dear Eddie D.,

I’m sorry I let you take the fall for the unfortunate Whoopee Cushion incident in Sister Mary Martin’s class. That was a very cowardly thing to do, but you have to admit you were a pretty easy mark. I’m sorry.

Dear Uncle Jim,

I’m sorry I put those frogs I caught while you were in the tavern in the glove department of your car and then forgot about them. The smell was pretty bad so I can understand why you were so upset. I’m sorry.

Dear Henry H.,

I’m sorry I mushed my Suzy-Q into your face in the high school cafeteria. That was a very immature thing for me to do. I almost wish you would have hit me with the plum you threw at me as I made my escape. It was a real bummer that the plum hit the wall right next to where Mr. Larson was standing and spattered all over his face. I also feel bad about you getting sent to the Principal’s Office while I got away scot-free. I’m sorry.

Dear Vince T.,

I’m sorry I told you Janet K. wanted you to ask her to the Junior Prom when I knew she was going steady with a guy from St. John’s. That was a very immature thing to do, and it must have been very embarrassing for you. I’m sorry.

Dear Charlie B.,

I’m sorry I shoved a paper napkin into your vanilla shake at Big Boy’s while you were in the bathroom. Although watching you suck your brains out on your straw trying to get a little flow going got a lot of laughs, that was a very immature thing for me to do. I’m sorry.

Dear Jim W.,

I’m sorry I opened the King’s crown to extra-extra-extra large and it slid over your head and down around your neck at the Prom crowning ceremony. It was unfortunate that was the picture that appeared in the local paper and in the school yearbook. I guess people must have thought it was funny. But that was a very immature thing for me to do. I’m sorry.

Dear Every Girl I Went Out With In High School,

I’m sorry I didn’t look at you as an actual person but rather only as an object of my worldly desires. I’m sorry.

Dear Roger G.,

I’m sorry about your mattress. When we found you passed out on the campus Green, I figured you could use your mattress. Then it got pretty dirty when we dragged it across campus from your dorm room so I thought we’d wash it for you. Now you must know I could not have stuffed a mattress into a wash machine by myself so I think what we have here is a case of shared responsibility. And there were no cautionary instructions with the mattress about not machine-washing it, so I don’t know that the damage was entirely my fault. Nonetheless, I’m sorry.

Dear Tom M.,

I’m sorry I talked you into going to the double feature at the drive-in (Girl on a Chain Gang and Teenage Mother) instead of studying for your Chemistry exam the next day. I know that didn’t help your grade point, and the movies were pretty bad, but like I said at the time, “There’s no use crying over spilled milk.” Nonetheless, I’m sorry.

Dear Ron B.,

I’m sorry I forgot where I parked your car in Boston when we were there for the hockey tournament and then you reported it stolen. That must have been embarrassing for you especially since your dad was a police Chief back home. I’m sorry.

Dear Johnny R.,

I’m sorry I forgot I lent you my car to go to Milwaukee for a wedding and then reported it stolen. It must have been terrible to spend the weekend in jail, and I’m sorry you missed the wedding, especially since you were the best man. I’m sorry.

Dear Los Angeles Commuters,

I’m sorry that the driveshaft on my old Ford fell off on the Santa Monica Freeway during the rush hour. I heard the traffic was backed up for miles. That must have been a real bummer for anyone trying to get home or to work. I’m sorry.

Dear Coach and Teammates,

I’m sorry I single-handedly lost the Boston College Relays for you when I was comfortably relaxing in the infield when our opening-leg runner came sprinting out of the turn expecting to hand the baton to me. That must have been an awful feeling for poor Don to have no one to pass the baton to, although some of the spectators seemed to get a kick out of it. I’m sorry.

Dear Coaches and Teammates,

I’m sorry I risked going for the interception, missed the tackle, and lost the game for you. No matter how many times I replay it in my mind, the outcome remains the same. I’m sorry.

Dear Medical Community,

You were right. I never should have considered Little Debbie Snack Cakes to be a major food group. I’m sorry.

Dear Father Straub,

I’m sorry I could never quite get myself to fully believe. It’s not your fault. You did your best. I did my best. I just couldn’t get there. I’m sorry. 

Dear Rachel,

There is no worse feeling for a Dad than driving their kid to the wrong field for a Saturday morning soccer game. I’m sorry.

I’m sorry for every time I screwed up pulling the canoe up to the shoreline when we were turtle hunting. I’m sorry.

I’m sorry for every time I embarrassed you by wearing my dorky red winter hat with the beak and ear flaps and shouting to people, “I’m this girl’s Dad!” I’m sorry.

I’m sorry I took more pictures at your Prom than any Dad in the history of Dads taking Prom pictures. I’m sorry.

I’m sorry we never finished building the chicken coop. I’m sorry.

Dear Matt,

I’m sorry I missed getting your game-winning home run on film. I can remember it so well, but I wish I had it for you. I’m sorry.

I’m sorry I screwed up on my netting job, and you lost that big walleye. That thing was a monster. I’m sorry.

I’m sorry I got so mad at you when you and your buddies would sneak some beer down to the boathouse. I made too much of a deal out of it. I’m sorry.

I’m sorry we didn’t spend more time together. I’m sorry.                      

Dear Wife,

I’m sorry for ____________________________________________________________________________________________________________

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(You fill in the blanks; I’m apt to miss something.)

Dear Self,

The need for apologies may not plague the young for they have time to correct course and make amends. It’s the old that look back at life and are afforded no such luxuries. Regrets take root and cannot be vanquished. 

I’m sorry for all the things I didn’t do in life, didn’t even try to do. I settled for the easy, the convenient, the path of least resistance. I wish I would have had more energy, confidence, and courage. Dreams don’t matter if that’s all they are. I’m sorry.