I\u2019m one of those people who is never on time.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
No, not late. I\u2019m always early.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Reaching my destination, I have to walk around blocks, drive in circles, drink too much coffee in diners or cafes so I\u2019m wound like a meth fiend when I show up on time, saying something on the order of, \u201cHi! Yeah! It\u2019s me!\u201d My host or the strangers I have the appointment with saying something on the order of, \u201cUh, you all right?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Once I phoned the author Tim Robinson for a date to interview him for a newspaper article. He didn\u2019t give a time, but rather said to \u201cjust come by tomorrow morning.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Banging on the door at 7 a.m., it was opened by Tim\u2019s wife, M\u00e1ir\u00e9ad, in her robe with bed hair and panic-stricken eyes, expecting a firefighter or a police officer. I introduced myself. She stared, the panic in her eyes turning to flint, and said what I\u2019ve heard too many times: \u201cDo you know what time it is?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
I could have countered by quoting the Bard: \u201cBetter three hours too soon than a minute too late,\u201d but she was in no mood for anything except to see the back of me. As the door shut in my face I heard, \u201cLater? Please?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
When I arrived at 10, M\u00e1ir\u00e9ad said, with a lovely smile as she put a mug of tea in my hand, that it was really no shame to admit my problem and seek help.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Tim generously said he, too, had the affliction. \u201cYears of deadlines,\u201d he said, \u201ccompletely mangles the mind\u2019s sense of time.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
For the chronically late \u2014 what is it with these people? \u2014 the cellphone is a godsend. I have a couple of friends I can count on to text half an hour before we\u2019re to meet with the \u201crunning late\u201d thing. Running? No, if you were running, you\u2019d be here, dammit.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Being late saves lives, of course. How many times do you read of people who miss the plane that crashes because they were, yes, running late? Being early, you can find us in the obit column. Franklin D. Roosevelt tied a bow on the idea: \u201cI think we consider too much the good luck of the early bird and not enough the bad luck of the early worm.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
It\u2019s a relief that I\u2019m not alone. Barbara Jaffe, Ed.D., a fellow in UCLA\u2019s Department of Education, has written: \u201cI know that nothing catastrophic would happen if I were minutes late to an appointment; nevertheless, I begin to sweat. My on-time legacy comes from eons of programming along with a \u2018time-sensitive\u2019 genetic component. My family\u2019s \u2018arriving late gene\u2019 is completely missing; instead, I come from a rather long line of (extremely) early people.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
I can relate.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
I get it from my father. With a wife and five children, he alone was on time \u2014 meaning early. Getting organized for a family outing, like Sunday Mass, visits to friends or starting a road trip, was like a mini midnight Black Friday at the mall, and my father was always at the door, waiting, in turn looking at his watch or scowling at us dashing around.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Once, I was being shepherded to put a move on by my older sister, Peggy. She was gently pushing me in the back and guiding me toward the door. She put a cap on my head, and then I followed Peg as she pulled me by the arm to the window where the rest of the tribe stood, all looking out. <\/p>\n\n\n\n
There, in the driveway was Dad behind the wheel of the car, motor running, staring straight ahead.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
It was good we were inside, because it allowed us one of those cherished moments in life when you laugh until you ache.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Pavlov had it down \u2014 if I\u2019ve got to be somewhere, my mind is dashing here and there, and the ghost of Dad is standing, scowling.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
But it\u2019s not only ghosts, but dreams that drive my obsession. Once, Mary and I went on vacation with our friend Marilyn and checked into an inn. It was run by a couple; a charming woman and a not-so-charming husband. He was a German who seemed to think being an innkeeper was the same as commanding a battalion under siege on the western front, ordering people around, barking at you if you asked for information.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
The first night we went out to dinner and Marilyn decided she would be the designated driver, and I would take the role the following evening. That night, having a nightmare of being late for something, I came awake to find myself shaking Mary\u2019s shoulders, looking wild-eyed into her face, imploring her to tell me, \u201cAm I the designated German?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Again, after the shock, non-stop laughing. When we finally stopped, one of us would, on an outflow of breath, just giggle a little, and then we were gone again, worthless for minutes.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
But hey, what time is it? Oh, no. Gotta go.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"
I\u2019m one of those people who is never on time. No, not late. I\u2019m always early. Reaching my destination, I have to walk around blocks, drive in circles, drink too much coffee in diners or cafes so I\u2019m wound like a meth fiend when I show up on time, saying something on the order of,…<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":1574,"featured_media":71481,"comment_status":"closed","ping_status":"closed","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"_acf_changed":false,"_jetpack_memberships_contains_paid_content":false,"footnotes":""},"categories":[160,1743],"tags":[17826,13186,17825,17827],"coauthors":[17479],"class_list":["post-126494","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","has-post-thumbnail","hentry","category-opinion-columns","category-featured-story","tag-barbara-jaffe-ed-d","tag-premium","tag-tim-robinson","tag-uclas-department-of-education"],"acf":[],"yoast_head":"\n