While searching for a certain book tucked away in the catalog of his personal library, Neil Smart happens to find something else, as an old encyclopedia falls from high atop the shelf just narrowly missing striking him on the head. Cracking open the old dusty cover as the aroma of an array of pages of aging paper consume his senses, a smile develops upon his face as his thoughts drift back, twenty years in time. A very different segment of life, back in the days predating cellular phones and the Internet, and a time when few people had a television capable of providing over thirty cable channels, a time when Mr. Smart enjoyed far simpler forms of entertainment.

Flashing back through the rolodex of recollection in the basement regions of his brain, his thoughts center back to one day in particular, a snow day, spent indoors reading all about snakes in that particular encyclopedia book followed by several additional hours spent drawing the colorful sampling of serpents in one of his dozens of journal notebooks. Smiling about the memories of his days of yore, closing the heavy lid of the book our protagonist returns from the past and back to the present... 

Hindsight is twenty/twenty, and most every one of us wishes at one point or another that we could go back and alter a significant event in the timeline of our lives. Take a different path; make a different decision, or perhaps an omission. Some of us merely wish we could escape the various responsibilities of adulthood and return to a more innocent time in our lives, revisiting and enjoying but one day during our childhood, a time we take for granted the first go round. Just imagine what we could do if given the chance to return completely intact with the knowledge and wisdom we have obtained through the years, bringing forth the concept of “if I only knew then what I know now.” Neil Smart could never have realized it at the time, but he is going to be awarded just such an opportunity... 

An intellectual, if not over-philosophizing twenty seven-year old law student, Neil Smart does not happen to mind the present or his current state of affairs, although he did happen to be the type constantly yearning for the past, the good old days, the golden age.

Back in his hometown visiting his parent’s house that weekend for his twenty-seventh birthday, anticipating a quiet, subdued celebration with family, Neil happens to be a mere matter of hours from unwrapping said present the likes of which he had not bargained for. Blowing out the candles on his cake following dinner during with the family, pressed to make a wish, the encyclopedia incident provides a fresh injection of nostalgia, giving birth to an idea. Of course, with birthday wishes seldom coming true, most of us realize with age that the only way to make a dream become reality is to accomplish said dream ourselves. With the sun shining brightly outside late into the evening hours, what better way to take a trip back down memory lane than riding his old bicycle throughout the town where he grew up, just for old times sake.

Leg muscles stretching initially, no longer used to the momentum or sensation of cycling, some things never change, hence the catchphrase associated with riding a bicycle. Riding past his old hangouts, he glided throughout the town, including rolling over a dirt path in the dark woods where beams of sunlight shone down from the canopy, a majestic sight as he traversed the dirt hills along the trail. Such a majestic sight was soon bested by another, as the soft white sands of the beach and the accompanying whitecaps sparkling and slushing about the azure lake make the man close his eyes, drifting back to a thousand summer days gone by along with the sounds of the waves crashing the shoreline.

All was not well however, as the tennis courts of which he played throughout many day and late into the night were overgrown with grass and weeds, the hard court cement chipped and cracked into disrepair. Even more disappointing of a sight was that of his old Elementary school, where the playground blacktop had likewise been chipped away, the map of the United States which he had once painted had eroded and been forgotten, the playground equipment removed and replaced with sterile and unimaginative designs under the guise of public safety. The weather may have been picture perfect and he may have been back in those locales, but despite space remaining intact the sad truth was that time marches on, and those days were gone forever. Unable to shake the sight of some of the aesthetically displeasing scenery along the journey, the most damning aspect was the fact that the tennis courts are overgrown with shrubs after having been more or less abandoned, symbolizing Smart’s bygone era of youth.

 Upon returning home and readying himself for sleep, Smart’s mother, a teacher, explains how she saw his first grade teacher that day and how she had forgotten to mention it earlier.

“Neil! Guess whom I ran into today, Mrs. Ward. I told her all about what you’re up to and she was delighted to hear that you’re doing well,” explains Mrs. Smart.

“Imagine that. I rode by the old school just now. Please tell her I say hello if you happen to see her again,” he replies.

As one might expect, Smart finds himself immersed in a bout of insomnia on this night, as he lay in bed thinking about how great it would be to go back to those days long ago, even if just for a day—-and especially if he could do so equipped with the knowledge he has acquired over the past twenty-seven years of his life. Thinking back to fond memories of going to the beach and riding bicycles in the summer with friends, many of whom have moved on throughout the years to other circles of friends, as people often do, his last thoughts of the night center upon the moments most cherished and appreciated. Eventually dozing off, dreaming of such a world where everything is fresh and new again, and where there exist no responsibilities, the twenty-seven year old man slips back into childhood, at least in terms of his dreams, or so he thought.  

“Neil!” Time to wake up!” calls his mother, being awakened the following morning by his mother calling him from the hallway, just as she has always done going back as long as he could remember. Rolling over and opening his eyes ever so slightly, an unusual sight snaps his eyelids completely open as he reflexively rises up, conking his head hard on the metal bars of his bunk bed.

“Son of a bitch!” he cries aloud, rubbing his forehead, before slowly glimpsing upwards at his old bunk bed looming overhead, a look of shock stitched upon his face. Glancing around his room ever so slowly to absorb everything in, Neil is unable to help but believe the notion that he is dreaming based upon what he is seeing, stunned to find his room painted blue like it once had been and full of childhood items in the form of pictures, posters, furniture, and action figures.

“Just go with it,” he whispers aloud, enjoying what his imagination has presented for him and thinking little more of it, considering his nighttime occupation of being a lucid dreamer.

Wandering into the hallway bathroom to brush his teeth and freshen up for the day, glancing into the mirror he is shocked to find not his usual twenty-seven year old face as he had left it, but rather his seven year-old reflection staring back at him.

“Wow!” I remember that scar, I fell off my bike and busted my chin, I forgot all about it. My mind sure is having a field day with this one. My subconscious must be on overdrive,” exhibits the man, er, boy, feeling the baby soft skin of his cheeks, the hairless nostrils of his tiny nose and a crooked smile full of baby teeth with a few empty gaps, including one front tooth.

“First grade, I remember my class photo,” he replies, before his hands move to his throat, softly rubbing his larynx. Testing the soft squeaky sound of his voice box, Neil marvels at the auditory disposition of his dream in addition to the stunning visual displays all around him, courtesy of his imagination.

Back in his room getting dressed, glancing around and examining some of his old belongings, some remembered and some forgotten, peering at his old alarm clock reading 7:25 he smiles about, getting himself dressed and entering the hallway, playing along with this dream eager to take it as far as it will go. Startled by his mother, who herself appears twenty years younger as well, with a heavy squint he examines her, having forgotten she once looked very different.

“Are you squinting Neil? We may have to get your eyes checked,” she explains.

“Oh right, I don’t wear glasses yet,” he replies.

“What do you mean yet? And what is that bump on your noggin, you have a huge bruise!” she declares, examining his forehead.

“Oh yeah, I hit my forehead on the damn upper bunk,” he replies.

“What did you say?” asks Mrs. Smart, pinching the cheeks of her son.

“Ow! Son of a...umm, son of a gun, son of a gun,” replies Neil, correcting himself.

“That language is forbidden from the breakfast table,” snaps Mrs. Smart as the two make their way into the kitchen.

That wasn’t supposed to hurt like that, thinks Neil to himself while rubbing the throbbing pain in his cheeks. After all, he had been shot and stabbed and punched and kicked in various dreams over the years, didn’t seem to add up that a pinch of the cheek from his mother would evince the most painful reaction of them all.

“7:30?” declares Neil, confused and looking at the clock, looking confused while taking his seat at the breakfast table. “Time is usually the first indicator of a dream, it doesn’t add up correctly in terms of linear progression. This sure is pretty lucid for a dream,” boasts the boy to his stunned parents.

“Linear what? Just what were you watching last night? And what is this about using a bad word?” asks Mr. Smart, putting down his coffee cup and newspaper.

“Terminator II I think was on last night,” replies Neil, meandering towards the sink to experiment with flowing water, another usual dead give away as to whether one is dreaming or not.

“I forbade you to watch that film! Nathan, did you hear me?” snaps Mrs. Smart to her husband.

“Neil, you know you’re not supposed to watch that movie, it’s too adult for you. Understand?” asks Mr. Smart.

“Oh, yeah, right. Sorry,” replies Neil, watching the water flow in the sink as it customarily does, just as a nervous batch of sweat pours from his palms and a sinking feeling takes hold of his stomach. Is this real? How could it possibly be? Such a notion defies all explanation.

“Neil, it’s great that you’d like to do the dishes, but perhaps you could start by finishing your breakfast first?” asks Mrs. Smart.

“I’ve lost my appetite. Guys, tell me as quickly as you can, today’s date and how old you each are?” snaps Neil.

“Only if you eat breakfast,” replies Mrs. Smart. I’m thirty-five. Nathan is thirty-six. It’s June 11th 1993,” replies Mrs. Smart, replying before Neil is convinced his brain could formulate the correct figures for itself. Returning to the breakfast table in a solemn retreat, reality soon dawns on him that he really has woken up twenty years in the past. A moment of excitement soon takes hold, causing Neil to rush out throughout the house in order to look for his beloved dog he grew up with.

“Penny! Where is Penny?” shouts Neil, in search of his dog.

“Where is who? Neil, are you feeling all right? What is this about? Your mother said you hit your head pretty hard?” declares Mr. Smart, as a forlorn Neil finds his search to be to no avail, saddened to realize his dog was not adopted until 1994, rendering him one year too early.

Still rather dazed and confused from the sudden shock of predicament he has found himself in, sitting through an awkward breakfast conversation with his parents, he fields a barrage of questions pertaining to whether he is feeling all right along with his strange behavior. Unsure how to respond properly, eventually choosing a selection he cites a combination of lethargy along with a headache as the cause of his malaise. 

On the way to school that day, Neil begins to grow excited about what his day is going to be like, becoming downright giddy about the opportunity that has presented itself to him.

“Amazing to see how much changes over a generation. Old cars, houses painted different colors and free of additions and garages, trees that exist again, time travel is so much more we think it to be,” announces Neil, delivering about a small helping of foreshadowing.

“This is going to be great. Just imagine how much I’m going to dominate gym class, how witty I’m going to be to all those young punks that dogged me my first time through these halls. I’ll have the best grades in the class! Well, hopefully,” exclaims Neil with a laugh.

Upon arriving outside of the building, the traveling born again youngster is thoroughly impressed with the clean look of the building.

“Hard to remember this place looking so shiny, almost spotless. Ahh, there is the playground as I remember it! The teeter-totter. Merry-go-grounds. My favorite, the fabled, infamous, nail protruding, sublime splintering wooden structure!” he declares aloud.

Walking through the green doors and breathing in the musty odors associated with the building, he finds himself in the wrong hallway, as a group of “older” students in the form of fifth graders take notice, chiding the young boy.

“Yo! You’re in the wrong hallway chump! Preschoolers are in the chicken coup outside!” snaps a bullying type along with two associates. It takes Neil a minute to remember where his first grade classroom was, along with the aching fact that his superior intellect is no match for brawn when outnumbered three to one and relegated to such a significant size disadvantage, as he recalls just how small and puny his seven-year old body happened to be.

“Let’s stuff him inside of a locker!” shouts one of the fifth graders, as two others each grab a shoulder.

“Get the hell off of me!” cries Neil,” a mere matter of necessary seconds before a teacher happens to walk on by.

“What’s going on here?” asks the teacher.

“They were planning to stuff me inside of the locker,” shouts Neil.

“Nu uh, he was swearing!” boasts the fifth graders.

“Hands off! Son, what grade are you in? You do know this is the wrong hallway, do you not?” asks the teacher.

“Yes, I was just um, returning a book to the library, that’s all. I’ll be on my way,” shouts Neil, taking a beeline down the hallway and away from temporary trouble, thoughts pondering on how the fifth grade students were acting no different than how fifth graders usually treat first grade students.

Glancing inside of each classroom passed along his journey on down the hallway as various students and teachers pass him in the opposite direction, a dash of nervous anxiety presents itself in the pit of his stomach, Neil wondering just how he is going to fit in back in his former first grade world. Finally arriving at the classroom of his first grade teacher, Mrs. Ward, opening the door with a slight creak and following a brief pause, stepping into the room, memories begin flooding back in droves, where everything looks familiar in that “I haven’t thought about this in years but have not forgotten about it entirely” sort of way.

Eager to talk to his old friends, Neil finds himself beaming with joy in bringing up conversations involving his old favorite imagination games, along with action figures, old television series and video games, immersing himself in the fun and games associated with the company of his friends that he hadn’t seen in years. While delightful and nostalgic at first, before too long he finds himself growing weary and discouraged with the content and scope of said content soon dominating the conversation, for after the initial spark of discussing fabled childhood issues, his friends are only able to discuss mundane topics, such as video game levels and other items that fancy the mind of a first grade student but seem trivial to someone with the intellectual capacity as Neil Smart.

“You guys want to go to the beach today? Ride bikes through the woods? Play ‘Spies in Time?’” asks Neil.

“Nah, we’re playing Carbon Blasters 3D. My brother Mitch is gone this weekend so we’re going to play it all night long!” responds an old chum of Neil’s.

A mere matter of twenty minutes surpass before Smart feels as though he is left out from the conversation, excluded due to his ignorance on subjects such as certain video games or movie specials-—a slice of childhood far more common than he remembered it and to a far greater extent than he would care to admit—and one that was not entirely a result of his advanced age mentally speaking.

Scanning his vision throughout the classroom, the young seven-year old heart of the boy soon begins to skip a beat, pumping at a faster clip while he grows nervous as he eyes the girl he had once had a crush on so long ago. Figuring what the astronomical odds of this entire episode must be, shrugging his shoulders and confidently, well casually, working up the courage young Neil walks over to the young blonde.

“Hey Megann, remember me?” asks Neil.

“I was only sick for one day,” she replies, wiping her snot filled nose on the sleeve of her shirt, much to the chagrin of Neil.

“That purple coat, I remember it well. I’ve always admired that blonde hair of yours too,” exclaims Neil.

“Huh?” responds the girl.

“You know, I’ve had a crush on you for twenty...um, since the first day of school. Wow, did that feel great to say!” exclaims Neil.

“What do you mean? Want to play with this doll? I’m playing with Holly,” replies Megann.

“No thanks, maybe later,” replies Neil, disenfranchised as upon speaking with her, with each sentence and each response, he can only see her as she is--as a seven-year old, and with an elementary mind.

“Well, of course I would not be attracted to a child, but that was not what I had imagined it would be like,” he says aloud to himself while rinsing his face in the bathroom to gather his thoughts. 

Contemplating his first grade school work the rest of the day without batting so much as an eyelash, quickly getting bored with how simple the once difficult and challenging concepts of spelling and basic arithmetic are this time around, as Smart is but one overachiever among a pool of a few, and his fellow classmates could not care less. Even the praise of an impressed teacher finding remarkability in the progress he has made, is to no consolation.

“You should see what they have kids working on in first grade nowadays, shit, even kindergarten,” remarks Neil towards Mrs. Ward.

Of course, what follows is a huge collective gasp from each of the children in the classroom, turning silently and shockingly towards Neil as if he had just declared the existence of Santa Claus to be fraudulent. Nothing stops the world of Elementary school quite like a swear word.

Confused and angered with his language, drawing the ire of his teacher for his profane statement, Neil can only deliver an admission of a response: “Oh, right, the swearing, I’ve got to watch that.

“Neil, you’ve had a good, impressive and productive day, so please see to it that you do so that I don’t have to send home a note with your parents,” declares Mrs. Ward in a threatening manner.

”Understood. Look Mrs. Ward, this schoolwork today is boring me a tad. Would you mind if the two of us could discuss an intelligent topic? Let’s see, it’s 1993...a topic such as Bush versus Clinton politics, or economic globalization, or the emergence of the Internet? Do you know what e-mail is?” asks Neil, curling his lips in a smile awaiting the response from his flabbergasted educator.

“I don’t discuss whom I vote for here in school,” replies Mrs. Ward with a snarky response, playing his mind for that of a first grade student, much to the chagrin of Neil.

Anticipating being able to play soccer at recess much like he once did, and dominating this time around for a change (for he did not develop a talent for sports until the fifth grade) Neil is upset when the powers that be declare recess to be rained out for the afternoon, confining twenty-five children inside of the room in a secluded (perhaps caged is more appropriate) atmosphere of organized chaos, where the young pupils have fully intended to make the most of their time off from work as they talk loudly amongst themselves firing about throughout the room like missiles, a clan of kamikazes in cadence.

Growing weary of his fellow yet former classmates whom have given him less in the way of a serving of fond memories and more in terms of a pounding headache, asking desperately to disassociate from the scene by means of requesting a play on the computer, Neil is quick to find the exercise trivial, realizing that there is no Internet access in 1993, at least not inside of an elementary school. Not only is there no Internet, there also is no computer located inside of this classroom, another dawning realization hatched from glancing around the room and remembering the computer to be in the computer lab, a room with 1980s era computers that only contain campy games and educational programs stored on floppy-disks. With random tumultuous outbursts piercing his eardrums from all around him, it is at this very point in the story that our protagonist realizes that the gift of having traveled back to the time of his childhood while intact with the brain of his adulthood is more frustration than fantasy.           

Returning home with an exasperated expression upon his clean cut seven year old face, stepping inside it looks as though a bounty of luck has finally befallen itself in his grasp, with his younger sister watching a show that the two always enjoyed. Reaching for a refreshing juice box of a flavorful chilled, green beverage discontinued some years after, and snagging a snug seat upon the couch, at long last Neil finds some much needed comfort in his surroundings. As delicious as the juice box is, the television series proves to be far more disappointing, as this time around it appears much more childish, immature and annoying than it was originally remembered. In fact, a squirming Neil struggles just to make it to the commercial break without leaving the room.

Flashing across the screen before the program resumes is a news commercial pertaining to the World Trade Center bombing having occurred earlier that year.

“Did you hear about that Morgan? I forgot about the first bombing, I guess because I’m...well, too young. They’re going to destroy the towers in 2001,” explains Neil to his four-year-old sister, instantly grabbing the attention of his alerted mother passing through the hallway.

“Neil! What on Earth are you telling your sister about, you’re going to frighten her! What is all this about towers being destroyed?” asks Mrs. Smart.

“9/11,” replies Neil.

“What happens at 9:11?” asks his mother.

“No, not at 9/11, on 9/11, September 11th. They’re going to...” begins Neil, informing his mother about 9/11 eight years before the event will occur. Scared about what he is speaking about, the concerned parent of his speaks up.

“You have been acting very strange all day long, saying very bizarre things, swearing this morning, and a school,” declares Mrs. Smart, as her son’s eyes grow wide with the last statement.

“That’s right, Mrs. Ward called me to discuss this a short while ago. If you keeps acting like this and saying outrageous things, I will make an appointment for the two of us with the school guidance counselor,” explains Mrs. Smart.

Once again coming to terms with the era that he is in, a frustrated young Neil albeit one wise beyond his years passes him behavior off.

“I’m sorry mom, I just had a dream about the towers, that’s all. I’ll behave,” he promises.

My God, what if I’m trapped here forever? What if I can’t get back to the world, as I know it, where I’m 27? What if everything I’ve ever worked for has ceased to exist? asks Neil to himself internally, a dramatic feeling of being overwhelmed leading him to escape the sensation of being trapped and leave the house.

In desperate need of conversing with a non-family member given their past ages and corresponding strange behaviors, deciding to call up some childhood friends, instinctively reaching into his pocket for his cell phone and finding empty pockets, the born again seven year old finds himself relegated to the home phone to call their house phone numbers. Of course, it takes Neil some time to remember their old numbers, and after remembering them the lad finds himself forced to speak through two nosy mothers and an agitating older brother of a friend before reaching his intended targets.

Unable to convince any of them to get outside and seize the day, perhaps by riding bicycles to the beach or using their ripened imaginations, disillusioned and dispirited, the seven year old finds himself little option than to reluctantly travel over to the house of one friend, finding himself at what amounts to a command center, the base operations of his friends with their hands locked on their joysticks and their eyes and minds glued to the video game monitor. A new game had just been released a week or two before, which of course will encapsulate the attention of his old gang for the next month and then some, placing Neil in a quandary equivalent of landing on a tropical paradise during monsoon season.

“How are you Neil, are you having a good day?” asks the mother of Neil’s friend, greeting their guest.

“Oh it’s been a crazy ass day,” replies Neil, the mother responding with casting a stern look. “Oh, right. The profanity. I’ve got to stop doing that!”

The next half hour is spent watching his friends compete at Super Nintendo, as mere annoyance grows to agitation on the part of the profane guest.

“Come on guys! I don’t want to play video games, it’s 1993, we’re young!” declares Neil aloud, his words falling on deaf ears. “It’s no wonder we drifted apart,” he mutters under his breath.

Paranoid thoughts of Neil involving being trapped as a child find thankfully find themselves droned out by the buzzing and electronic noises of the video game, along with the frantic pressings and noises of the dueling joysticks, a sound almost rhythmic and soothing to the exhausted traveler. An hour or so later the video game ends abruptly and is subsequently turned off, replaced with a commercial on the screen for the 1993 NBA Finals.

“Game 2 is tonight! The Suns are winning the championship for sure!” boasts the older brother of one of Nick’s former friends—-uh, current friends...well, you get the picture.

“A hundred bucks says they won’t,” quips Neil.

“What did you say?” replies the brother.

“I said, one hundred dollars says they will not. The Bulls will,” snaps Neil.

“Oh yeah? Put your money where your mouth is big shot. Where are you going to even get that much coin from you dork, your piggy bank?” boasts the brother, a little miffed at Neil’s comment.

“Think again, I’ve got it right here in my wallet” replies Neil, before reaching down to find nothing in his pocket, although finding the nugget of information reminding him that he does not yet carry a wallet, and will not for several years.

Traditionally at odds with the older brother of his friend, the rival does happen to do Neil a favor, hijacking the television and forcing the gang out of the room. Finally able to get his friends off of the couch, and convincing them to get on their bikes and ride towards the beach, Neil is unable to enjoy the fast paced ride or the wind blowing through his hair, instead pondering to himself how he is only seven years old, and knows the results of this basketball game and several other things that are to come, but he lacks the money to gamble to the point of prospering from this information, just as everyone else does that he happens to know at this juncture of life. Arriving at the beach with the sun shining on down through the clouds casting the bleached white sands in a radiant glow, the thoughts of Neil churn much like the shores of the lake, believing that his luck may be changing. Instead of tossing around a football, his friends wish to use their imagination and conjure up some simulated movie scene, just as they had always done, and just as Neil had always enjoyed doing. Splashing about and fighting with his friends does prove to be among the most cherished moments of this day, with Neil unable to complain as his friends are doing just as he had wished, using their imaginations--only diving around wrestling in the lake contains an allure that wears off after sometime, as although this fun endeavor used to inspire Neil, he cannot help but fight his diminishing level of interest, finding it now boring his intellectual mind.

While watching the NBA Finals that night, our protagonist becomes bored once more possessing the knowledge of the outcome of the game ahead of time. Flipping through the channels, nothing on any of the mere thirty channels pleases him, leading him to speak out loud again and vent: “What a day. I need a drink...but a seven-year old cannot buy alcohol. I cannot even drive anywhere, as I don’t even have a license yet!”  

Sneaking a beer out of the fridge belonging to his father, with the illegal can draped inside of his shirt, the boy retreats to his room much like a deer evading hunters. Closing the door behind him and cracking open the can, Neil licks his lips in anticipation of guzzling down a cold one...a plan clearly not well thought out, as much to his chagrin he reacts violently when the alcohol meets his lips, tongues and taste buds.

“Yuck! How old is this beer? Is it skunked?” he asks aloud, peering down at the can, disgusted with how strong the taste is, before realizing that although he may have the mind of his twenty-seven year old self, his seven-year old tongue has not properly been introduced nor acquired the taste of alcohol. Nearly busted when his nosy mother comes out of the woodwork, Neil hides the can underneath his bed.

“Did I hear you correctly? I could have sworn you mentioned drinking and driving? What on Earth would you know about that?” asks Mrs. Smart, her arms crossed in a tight fold while glancing down at her son with a menacing scowl stretched across her face.

“Well, we learned a lesson today in school about how wrong it is to drink and drive,” replies Neil, outwitting his mother.

“What’s that smell? He’s only seven Darlene, do not even go there,” explains his mother, speaking to both the boy and her, inquiring about the smell of alcohol on his breath.

“Uh, well I did have a ginger ale earlier at Dan’s house to drink. Much be responsible for the aroma of whatever it is you’re smelling,” declares the cunning lad.

     Before being sent to bed extremely early at 8:30 p.m. on account of his strange behavior, Neil is able to successfully convince his mother to allow him to phone three relatives to say hello, a gesture that warms her heart. Subsequently phoning his grandmother, grandfather, and uncle—-all of whom would pass away over the course of the next generation, conversing with them and asking a variety of questions about their lives, receiving answers of which he has never known and has always wondered about, making small talk and above all else, telling each how great it was to simply talk and how much he loves them.      Following the conclusion of the final call, wasting little time Neil does the same with his immediate family, speaking with them each and reminding them how much he loves them before crawling into bed in his old favorite pair of pajamas.

Comfortably nestled into bed, the twenty-seven going on seven year old lay awake, much like he had done on the previous night, wondering if this has really been a dream, elongated and stretched further than he could dare imagine. Theorizing a test, rising up from bed only to bump his noggin once more on the white bars of the bunk bed, searching for an available tool, clasping a toy car and placing it inside of an air duct in his room in an effort to determine if he really is in the past. Drifting off to sleep with thoughts of the past day swirling about in his mind much like the splashing waters of the beach, the wind combing through his hair, and the range of emotions of interacting with his family members, friends and others against the backdrop of the dichotomy of his wise mind and youthful interior, his last thoughts of the evening center upon whether the toy car will be dusted up and waiting for him in 2013, that is if he is bound to return...

Waking up earlier than usual at six in the morning, jumping out of bed and glancing in the mirror, the familiar wrinkles and patchy facial hair confirm to Neil that he is back in 2013 once again. Diving to the ground and cracking open the air duct, a rush of excitement overcomes his body while sifting his fingers inside, expecting to feel a hard plastic car. Peering inside for a better view, to his great disappointment, he fails in find the toy, exhaling deeply and leaning backwards against the wall.

“Guess it was just a dream, just as logic would dictate,” exclaims Neil.              

“I bumped into Mrs. Ward again at school today,” explains Mrs. Smart to her son while eating lunch that afternoon.

“I feel like it was only yesterday that I saw her last,” responds Neil in a snarky response.

“She had a funny story to tell when I told her you were in law school. She said how she was the least bit surprise, because no first grade student had ever wanted to discuss subjects with her such as politics, economics, and globalization the way you apparently did,” explains Mrs. Smart, as her son cannot help but hold his fork in place inside of his mouth for several moments after hearing this, taking in what he has just heard while dropping his sandwich in disbelief.

“To think she thought so highly of you. I always assumed that she didn’t, after all she called me one day complaining that you had a potty mouth. Do you remember that?” asks Mrs. Smart.

“As a matter of fact I do. Once again, feels like it was just yesterday,” replies Neil...

No pun intended given his surname, Neil Smart is a sharp individual. That being said, even intelligent individuals need a reality check in wisdom from time to time. Nostalgia may hold a special place in all of our hearts, but it belongs in the past, a place where memories burn with an eternal flame of vigor never to be extinguished, as our reflections and memories age like fine wine. As much as we would like to trade the responsibilities for the perks of childhood, very seldom do we ponder the hypothetical costs associated with exchanging the perks of adulthood away for the responsibilities of childhood.

As Mr. Smart learned for himself, it was neither the turn of the world, the clocks of time or the consequences of aging that had passed him by. Rather, it was the ensuing growth and maturity associated and brought about from his twenty years time henceforth, which had done the trick. Simply stated another way for the seven year old in all of us, he had done the trick himself, as he had passed by the time of places and things, and even people gone by.

In time the specifics of our lives tend to broaden themselves, becoming more fanciful in the process. When it came to the time traveling foray of Neil Smart, youth was served with a healthy helping of such wisdom, in more ways than one.

END