Time Keepers

My dad was always the one to adjust the clocks at the beginning and end of Daylight Savings Time, and I always envied his task.

Even though I DETEST springing ahead, the whole ritual of altering time caught my imagination as a youngster. Plus, I was often enamored with shenanigans that occur in the dead of night. (I'm looking at you, Santa Claus.)

Back in the day, I imagined that dad performed his time magic precisely at 2:00 AM…because I'm a rule follower. I envisioned him huddled in the dark living room, eyes alert and glued to the big wrought-iron 70s sun clock, waiting for the exact moment. And of course, I figured that he was able to change all the clocks in the whole house AT ONCE.

There had to, I assumed, be some sort of...creature or being...involved in this annual practice: A Father Time-type figure who manifested, and with a wizened voice, proclaimed "ahead!" or "back!" at the precise moment, and then vanished. Or maybe little time devils sprang forth from each clocked device and ran amok with cloven hooves and round clock-face eyes until dad made the necessary adjustments, after which they were sucked back to the correct time plane in which they belonged.

And now it's my turn as official timekeeper of our household! And although I'm not going to give any secrets away about what occurs during this timely ritual – after all, we, the take-charge folk of the house who assume this task are a sacred brotherhood - it's every bit as whimsical as I imagined it to be.

Except for those timepieces that require me to climb up on a chair, require an unnecessary amount of button pushes, or is the friggen car radio…because who can figure that out? Then I'm like, "Screw dis."