Twice

My sister, Jackie, bought me a book for Christmas. It’s an autographed copy of Mitch Album’s Twice.  I just got around to reading it.  The truth is I’m not done but I’ve got the gist.

Mitch and I go way back.  Ruth bought me an autographed copy of Tuesdays with Morrie, his all-time best seller, for Christmas in 1999.  I didn’t read that right away either.  I had lost my dad in June of 99 and what I knew of the story reminded me of him and his passing.  I just wasn’t ready to relive it.

I finally got around to reading it on a trip to Vegas with our friends, Jim and Diane, just before school resumed in September of 2000.  I was so taken by it that I called my secretary and had her buy copies for my staff. I shared the book on the opening day of school.  After hearing how the story reminded me of my last nine months with my dad, one of the English teachers asked if he could buy a set to share with his students. I think those two purchases pushed Mitch up on the best seller list.  I’m not positive, but that’s my theory.

Twice is built around a question most of us have wondered to ourselves at one point or another: What if I could go back and do that moment over? Not the whole life, not the whole year. Just that one moment that you wonder about when you’re alone. The main character, Alfie Logan, doesn’t have to wonder. He’s born with the ability to relive a moment and choose differently the second time. It sounds like a blessing, but Albom treats it more like real life. It’s complicated, unpredictable, and full of consequences that don’t show themselves until you’re already knee‑deep in them.

Alfie’s first encounter with this strange gift happens when he’s a boy. He watches his mother die, then wakes up to the same day all over again. It’s the kind of heartbreak that leaves a permanent mark on a person. Naturally, he tries to save her, but even with a second chance, he can’t change what’s meant to happen.

As he grows older, Alfie uses his ability the way most of us probably would. He rewinds embarrassing moments, fixes mistakes, and tries to steer his life toward something smoother and less painful. But every time he “fixes” one thing, something else shifts.  It’s like trying to straighten all the chairs on a ship that’s rocking and rolling all day.

When I was growing up, the boys in the neighborhood played cowboys and Indians.  We all had guns.  Some were pretend, but the lucky ones had six shooters with holsters.  I still have mine in my Michigan condo.

We’d shoot at each other and when we got hit, we’d drop to the ground.  One of the guys on our team would come to our aid, rub his hand over the invisible wound and say, “Fix.  Fix. Fix.”  It was a miracle.  Everyone continued on like nothing happened.

One day, we were playing in my backyard when David Ruff, the boy next door, got shot and dropped his gun as he fell. I was already lying on the ground, and it landed on my head, just above my left eye. Blood poured from the wound as everyone screamed for help, and my mom came running out. She pressed a dishtowel over the cut and held it there.

She and a neighbor with a car rushed me to the doctor’s office in downtown Royal Oak. The doctor said the cut was too close to my eye for stitches, so he just bandaged it up. After that, we came up with a new rule: “No dropping guns when you get shot.” I learned the hard way that you can’t “Fix. Fix. Fix.” real wounds.

That’s part of Album’s message: the things that come your way are meant for you. You might wish for a do‑over, but those chances are rare. We get what we get based on our actions. Some outcomes are simple, others complicated.

Twice isn’t about time travel, but about the urge to revise our own story. We all have moments we’d love to redo: the girl we didn’t ask out, the conversation we messed up, the opportunity we missed, the person we hurt without intending to.  Each one of us has our own list.

I’ve been thinking about that since I started reading the book, and I’ve decided I’m better off with how my life has turned out. If I had chosen a do-over, it might have changed my family, especially my kids and grandkids. I love them all and I’m happy with who and where they are. Not everyone can say that. It’s a gift.  I’m truly blessed.