“This can’t possibly be reality,” I keep telling myself, as I go through the familiar motions of preparing for another year’s first day of school.

Last night, I went to sleep on our lumpy mattress; a 42-year old dad stressed out about the mounting bills, the kid’s braces, the wife’s car problems and the possibility of my overtime being cut at the job. The last thing I remember before nodding off, was wishing I could go back and start over, wherever it was that my life took a turn.

So how in the world did I wake up in my childhood bedroom, in 1985, on the first day of the 7th grade? While it all feels surreal, it actually feels familiar at the same time. I heard dad’s radio clock click onto News/Radio 950 at 4:30am, just like it always did. I heard him shower; smelled the fresh Folgers coffee brewing around 6:30am…