It is the freezing cold month of December and I am standing ankle deep in mushy snow staring at a window display on Fifth Avenue. Amid the celebratory lights are several child sized mannequins dressed in chic jackets and warm coats. It is ironical that my 3-year-old son has to make do with a second hand coat while lifeless plastic bodies are adorned with expensive garments. The cold mind slaps at my face and I move on.
A few blocks ahead as I am crossing a road I notice a familiar face heading into a shopping mall. It takes a couple of seconds for me to realize that that familiar face belonged to my classmate, Azam from high school. Unlike me it seemed as though life had treated him well. He walks with the stride of someone who has both money and power. Accompanying him is a dainty lady holding a baby in her arms. During his school days he used to have a scrawny physique with a face that always seemed to be shadowed by thick spectacles. I, on the other hand, was known for my athletic abilities since I was a star football player. With time fate had changed who would be envied and who would envy.
Ten years down the road, the only remnants of my high school glory were a few rusty medals and a trophy and faded photographs in my family album. After high school ended, I decided that my education was complete. Countless times my parents tried to convince me otherwise but I didn’t pay heed to their advice. I felt as though studying books would simply take up valuable time that could be used fruitfully elsewhere.
Today, as I stand in my worn out boots through which melted snow has found a way in, I wish I had listened to my parents. My parents were right. The best way I could’ve utilized my time would’ve been by continuing my education. If I had gone to college, today I would’ve been in a similar position as Azam; having the comfort and security of a good paying job. I hung my head with regret as it begins to rain. I head home with a heavy heart wishing I could go back in time and set things right.