If you could pick one day to live over....what day would it be?

When I think about the play, Our Town, by Thornton Wilder I wonder what day would I pick if I had the chance to live it over again. Maybe I’d choose a Sunday afternoon when my best friends, Pat from next door, and Cecilia and Diane, the 2 southern belles from across the street, were all at my house watching my parents dance in the den. Often on lazy Sunday afternoons my parents would roll back the rug in the den and turn on the hi-fi. I would watch them sway to the songs of their youth, those melancholy tunes that brought whispers and dreamy eyed gazes from days gone by. Sometimes I would catch a tear or two in their eyes and wonder why these songs evoked such emotion. Always aware that I was only a spectator and these moments belonged solely to them yet more often than not perturbed by their preference to the oldies and anxious for the opportunity to replace them with the current songs of the day. Who wanted to hear Star Dust or I’ll Never Smile Again when the Beatles had just invaded America? To add to the already sickening display of nostalgia my father would softly sing the words in my mother’s ear while holding her close oblivious to the glaring stares of their inpatient teenage audience. Though I wrinkled my nose in disgust, as any self-respecting teen would have done, I was secretly comforted by their overt display of affection. I enjoyed how their love was displayed for the entire world to see and it reassured me to know that my parents still felt the passion that had ignited their courtship. This is the kind of ordinary day I think I would choose to relive just to be with my parents, feeling not only their love for me but also their love for each other.