For the Present

I

You are offered a trip back in time. To what period would you like the time machine to take you?

I suppose a bunch of would-be Athenians are tucking up their togas in anticipation of a dialogue with Socrates or a sit-down with Plato at the Academy. Meanwhile, neo-Elizabethans are dusting off their doublets as they look forward to quaffing some sack at the Mermaid tavern alongside Will Shakespeare and buddies. Dreams of Versailles float through the heads of others longing to be set down in France during the reign of Louis XIV. Still other times and climes for other folks.

However, would-be retro-travelers who who take the bait and answer the question all do so with a false assumption in the back of their minds. They believe that the time machine, besides giving them calendrical freedom, will also give them a desirable social and economic status as well. In other 
words, one cannot assume that once back in ancient Athens, one will have entree into Plato’s orbit. What if one’s role in life turns out to be that of a low-or-no-status person at the time, like a woman or a slave? 

And if your travel ticket is for Elizabethan London, you may indeed find yourself in the Mermaid tavern, but not as a patron, but as the potboy.

PRINCE HENRY

Come hither, Francis.

FRANCIS

My lord?

PRINCE HENRY

How long hast thou to serve, Francis?

FRANCIS

Forsooth, five years, and as much as to--

POINS

[Within] Francis!

FRANCIS

Anon, anon, sir.

PRINCE HENRY

Five year! by'r lady, a long lease for the clinking
of pewter. But, Francis, darest thou be so valiant
as to play the coward with thy indenture and show it
a fair pair of heels and run from it?

FRANCIS

O Lord, sir, I'll be sworn upon all the books in
England, I could find in my heart.

POINS

[Within] Francis!

FRANCIS

Anon, sir.

PRINCE HENRY

How old art thou, Francis?

FRANCIS

Let me see--about Michaelmas next I shall be--

POINS

[Within] Francis!

FRANCIS

Anon, sir. Pray stay a little, my lord.

PRINCE HENRY

Nay, but hark you, Francis: for the sugar thou
gavest me,'twas a pennyworth, wast't not?

FRANCIS

O Lord, I would it had been two!

PRINCE HENRY

I will give thee for it a thousand pound: ask me
when thou wilt, and thou shalt have it.

POINS

[Within] Francis!

FRANCIS

Anon, anon.

PRINCE HENRY

Anon, Francis? No, Francis; but to-morrow, Francis;
or, Francis, o' Thursday; or indeed, Francis, when
thou wilt. But, Francis!

FRANCIS

My lord?

PRINCE HENRY

Wilt thou rob this leathern jerkin, crystal-button,
not-pated, agate-ring, puke-stocking, caddis-garter,
smooth-tongue, Spanish-pouch,--

FRANCIS

O Lord, sir, who do you mean?

PRINCE HENRY

Why, then, your brown bastard is your only drink;
for look you, Francis, your white canvas doublet
will sully: in Barbary, sir, it cannot come to so much.

FRANCIS

What, sir?

POINS

[Within] Francis!

PRINCE HENRY

Away, you rogue! dost thou not hear them call?

Here they both call him; the drawer stands amazed, not knowing which way to go

Henry IV, Part 1

II

If you could live your life over, what would you change?

I have a confession to make: When I summon up remembrance of things past, I almost always stir up from the depths of my mind bad memories. Memories of my errors, crassness, rudeness, pettiness, and on and on (though I wouldn’t go as far as a friend of mine who, after many years, went to confession and told the priest, “I have broken all the commandments except 'Thou shalt not kill'”). 

I wish that I had been a nicer person—politer, more caring, less self-centered. But would I opt to change my past? No. I do not wish to go back to any fork in the road of life and choose the path not taken. Sure, I might have found more happy days, though I might have found more misery instead. Then again, I might not even be around to write this. 

But most important, a wish to change the past, means a wish to eliminate all that happened in the first place. And in my case it would mean that I would erase from existence my daughter and grandchildren. 

What selfishness it would be—even greater than the selfishness in my past—to deny them life in exchange for the possibility that I could have had a bit more pleasure in my life.

So, it is not out of complacency or smugness that I say, “Let the past be.”