Oh, reset button You’re so small, yet so powerful You impacted my life as a young video gamer You erased problems the virtual world threw at me Glitches Freezes The game being an ignorant cheat Your presence comforts me I sometimes long for you in the real world Oh, reset button MY LATEST desire for this fictitious plot device occurred Friday when my car decided it wanted to take the day off from work.
The a.m. was like most mornings before work — snooze button overload, hurried ironing, frantic search for lost keys — except the dash to my car became futile when the car didn’t start.
I thought about the past couple of weeks when my car gave me increasingly weaker responses every time I started it.
Quite frankly, perhaps I should have most definitely addressed the situation before Friday.
Since I let the problem linger, I spent the time before my lovely co-worker, Bethany, picked me up from home thinking about the reset button.
If it existed, I would have pressed it to take me back a couple of months ago.
The best thing about the reset button is you would know what went wrong so you can do the right thing.
Fortunately, I’ve been blessed enough not to have to go through a situation where I wanted to hit the reset button because of a tragedy. It’s mostly been about trivial matters.
The go-to reset button example in my life happened during the spring of 2006 in Houston.
BEFORE I became a Mizzou Tiger, I wanted to be a Texas Longhorn.
When applying for colleges during my senior year, I had only one university on my mind.
I’m no dummy, so I applied to other colleges. I just waited for the one letter that would make all of those other applications irrelevant.
Finally, the letter came on one glorious day.
I basically ripped apart the envelope trying to open it both out of excitement and an inability to open envelopes properly.
I don’t remember a lot of details of the letter or my initial reaction.
I just know it didn’t say what I wanted.
According to Texas, there was nothing wrong with me, but the main campus was just too full for a good student such as myself. The university did have opportunities for me to go to one of the system schools.
To sum it up, I received a “it’s not you, it’s me” letter.
That didn’t sit well with me because I had friends going to Texas.
Actually they weren’t really friends, just people I knew.
That’s not the point though.
The university I’d been wanting to go to forever rejected me.
It was at this point I began thinking about the reset button.
I was ranked 100-something out of 700-something students, good enough for the top 15 percent.
In the state of Texas, students who graduated in the top 10 percent of their high school class are granted automatic admission to any public university in the state.
It began to dawn on me that maybe I should have worked just a tad bit harder to get into the top 10 percent. Paid more attention. Studied harder. Turned in homework assignments on time.
Since life doesn’t have a reset button, I had to learn to deal with the humbling disappointment.
It was among the many lessons I’ve learned since then.
SOMETIMES, I consider how different my life could have been if I actually did the right thing and applied myself more in high school.
At the time of the disappointing Texas letter, I would have pressed the reset button out of reflex if it existed. It was the obvious choice.
That would have been a foolish decision.
Going to Mizzou gave me a different path — a path I rather enjoy.
And I’ve moved past my latest reset button urge.
Now, I’m interested in another video game concept: a cheat code. I’d use it to get more money. Fixing my car isn’t cheap.