Hindsight is 20/20, or so the saying goes. Another way of saying that is "Monday morning quarterback," meaning someone who opines on just how the quarterback could have won the game, after the game is over. Or, to get hoity-toity, as the philosopher Soren Kierkegaard said, life must be lived forward, but can only be understood backward.

Last weekend I traveled to New Hampshire to watch my oldest son's rugby club play their final games. They got hammered, yet at game's end I was caught offguard when several of the players (including my son) suddenly turned red-eyed while hugging, weeping, and sniffling.

These six-foot, 240-pound young men, lurching toward their adult lives, seemed to think nothing of slamming into the other team's players, only to break down in sobs after the fourth quarter.

They were bummed to lose, and to see the season come to a close.

Lunching together after the game, my son was sweetly reflective and swept both of us up in a tide of sentimentality. I never know exactly what he is thinking, except for a hint here or there. He's 19, so there's always a certain amount guesswork involved. But he kept saying how much he loved me and how much he missed the family.

I found myself unexpectedly longing for the good old days (I'm sure there were some) at the beginning of my marriage and in the years leading up to my son's birth. When my son alluded to his childhood, I guiltily remembered how brief that period really was.

My ex was at the game last weekend, and had spent the previous evening touring the campus, and hanging out with our son.

Our brief greeting on the rugby field was awkward. We seemed more like a strangers than two people who had spent 18 years married. I assured myself that distance was a good thing.

Still, there have been times during the last few days when I've thought how much lovelier things would be if we could all just live together as family again.

If hindsight really is 20/20 (or if I can only understand my choices by looking backward), then here are some ways I would have done my marriage differently:

● I'd throw any and all traditional approaches out the window.

● I'd make sure I kept my own bank account.

● I'd pay attention to my personal goals while balancing family duties.

● I'd make sure my fiancé wasn't harboring any latent fantasies about me turning into his mother, or his caregiver, or, or, or ...

Well, truth is, sometimes living with mixed feelings is just part of life and even hindsight won't solve the emotional roller coaster of love, parenting, divorce, and everything in between.

A new Dan Wilson song, "All Kinds," says it beautifully:

One life is all we ever get

And all we ever give up for it in return

Is all of the ones we might have been

Just one kind of beautiful each in our turn.

It made me think hard: all the things we give up are all the things we might have been. OK, so that's what comes of looking backward, or "hindsight."

Here's a joke I found on the Internet while researching the word.

"If more women in these parts had hindsight, they wouldn't wear tight pants."

Bada Bing.