Second Chance

     It was the premiere of "Second Chance," and because it was on after the moribund "American Idol," I watched it, or almost all of it.  The plot is complicated:  a set of mutually dependent twins, he non-verbal except with her and she dying of cancer, are able to bring back to life, through scientific genius, a man whose genetic code will allow the female twin to survive her cancer.
    The person who fit the bill by providing, though unknowingly, the body, was a disgraced ex-sheriff who everyone thought had committed suicide, but who in fact had been murdered after seeing a pair of villains who had broken into his son's office on a nefarious mission.
    I was able to follow the complicated plot, but my mind kept balking at one of the details.  The ex-sheriff, as he was known, had been of necessity brought back to life  so he could sustain life in the cancer-stricken twin.  And this is where my mind stopped accepting the premise.  The murdered man was a time-worn man of 75 who had aged badly.  When he was rejuvenated, he was youthful, strong, and capable.  The thing is, when he encountered his family and other acquaintances, they did not recognize him.  So either he came back in a different physical configuration, or else his family had a very poor memory for past appearances, and hadn't had access to any pictures of what the old man looked like when he was younger.
    And that's what got me thinking.  If I were to magically appear as my 30-year-old self, would anyone in present-day life recognize me?  So far, I've been able to know it's my reflection in the mirror, though pictures are another story, and Face-time images worst of all.  No one even was clued by the old sheriff's voice, though cigarettes and whiskey had made it quite raspy.  Whereas, I've been told that my voice still sounds the same, so I guess if I ever am brought back to life, I won't be able to secretly spy on how my family and friends react to my absence.  That might have been interesting.