No clocks

Here's a week from two years ago as I tried not to look at the time.

Day 1

How many times a day do you think you check the time? On 15, maybe 20 occasions?

You can probably multiply that number by 10, if my first day attempting to be out of touch with time is any indication.

And I don’t even wear a watch; who wants to be handcuffed to time? I’ve always figured the very few times a day I need to know what time it is, I’ll find the time somewhere.

Boy, was I wrong—about how often I check the time. And, I was also right—there’s always, always a clock somewhere.

Without looking, I mentally counted 10 places where I could find the time on the first floor of my house alone. Aside from our clocks, the time is displayed on our microwave, radio, oven, TV set, and handheld phones.

Time gets our attention more than a phone call from the principal.

I got off to a bad start and it only got worse. I failed in the first waking seconds of the morning, though, in my defense, who doesn’t check the time when they wake up?

I followed that failure with two more time-checks in the day’s first 15 minutes. I’m worse at this than Hermey the Dentist was as an elf.

I checked the clock so often as Daniel got ready for school you’d think it was a winning lottery ticket. And I was trying hard not to look.

To rationalize my early failures, I tried something I knew would make me feel worse. Math.

I used my fingers and toes to estimate how often the average person might notice the time during a day. Roughly six times an hour—believe it!—multiplied by 17 waking hours. That’s more than 100 times a day, or half as often as ESPN promotes itself.

My biggest nemesis is the kitchen clock positioned on a wall so I’m face to face with it as I approach the kitchen. Linda suggested I cover the clocks, but that seems like cheating.

I’m also not going to ask people what time it is, or trick Daniel into giving me updates. Though if you can't trick your kids, what fun are they?

Rather, I’ll rely on the rhythms of the natural world, as our caveman ancestors did. The sun. The moon. The stars. The neighborhood dog-walkers who circle the block like clockwork at their usual time of day.

Since my office overlooks our road, I also know I can rely on other predictable street traffic. Lanky Cellphone-Talking Guy, who probably works in the office around the corner, circles our neighborhood shortly after noon.

Our mail carrier arrives between 3:30 and 4, the junior high school bus passes by at 3:40, and after-work traffic picks up starting at 5:15.

Even armed with that knowledge, I was still Custer in my battle against time, since I checked the time inadvertently probably 40 to 50 times today.

That’s why after a day out of time, and out of sorts, I know this: Time is not on our side. It’s attacking us.

I’m trying to fight back, to regain my freedom from time's grip, though for now time’s got me in a Sergeant Slaughter Cobra Clutch and it’s starting to count me out. 1…2…3…

Day 2

I woke up yesterday and it was dark, so I deduced it was somewhere between midnight and 6:30. See how I've mastered interpreting the earth's clues?

My dilemma, though: Do I try to go back to sleep because it's the middle of the night, or do I get up because it's the morning?

One thing was certain--I wasn't going to check the time. And with that, I finally had a victory over time! I needed a win after a first day filled with more slip-ups than a first-grade skating party.

Turns out it was 6 a.m. When I turned on the TV--and avoided looking at the time displayed--the local news was just starting. (I guess it also could have been 11 p.m. the night before; good thing I didn't think of that then.)

My morning victory was tempered by the realization that over the years, I've probably made 7-year-old Daniel a time hostage worse than me.

We have a regular morning routine, during which he eats his breakfast and gets ready for school, and once he's finished, if there's time left, he can play with his Legos until it's time to leave.

How do I know I've corrupted him? After a slow, meandering morning, I asked if he wanted breakfast. He looked at the clock and whined, "Awwww, I'm supposed to be finished breakfast by 7:27 and now I'm only starting it."

Wow, I need this week more than I imagined. I guess that's why I'm struggling worse than Shaq trying to fly coach.

I decided to count the number of times I peeked at the time all day, and the result was depressing. I looked at a clock six times before 8 a.m. Six times in two hours!

And I probably stopped myself on a dozen other occasions. Fortunately, the pace slowed slightly--I considered taking a nap to help the cause--and for the day I checked a total of 31 times.

That's still almost two time checks every waking hour for someone who's not supposed to be looking at all.

Sadly, that's progress compared to the first day. How much time until this week is over?

Day 3

I’ve identified why I check the time so often during the day. Every time I enter a room in our house, I instantly look to where the time is displayed. It’s like I’m timing myself doing laps around the house.

To break the habit, I need to sit quietly in one room all day and not look around. Make the room padded, put me in a straitjacket, and all of my problems are solved.

I could probably trace my habit back to high school and college, where I’d rush to make classes on time, and then check the wall clock as soon I entered the classroom. It’s the same thing with work, where I’d check the time whenever I entered my office.

In most cases, my bosses weren’t as concerned about time as I was. At one magazine, writers notoriously abused the concept of getting to work on time—for them, showing up at all was a nice change of pace.

One writer showed up hours late one day dressed head to toe in an Arab dishdasha and shumagg and was treated like a king. Showing up on time in khakis was so passé.

However, I also worked at a place where time was regulated better than the stock market. Timesheets had to be filled out in 15-minute intervals, and the entire office was forced to take lunch at exactly 11:45 and return promptly at 12:45.

You were warned, then docked for any lateness. All the place was missing was bars on the windows.

My management style has been less restrictive: Either you get the job done or you don’t. I think that’s another reason I check the time so frequently. I’m measuring my day's success by how much I accomplish.

Again, Daniel reminded me that I need to ease up a little. He also showed me that you never know what habits your kids will pick up.

While he and Linda were playing yesterday morning before he'd gotten ready for school, Daniel abruptly stopped and said, “I’ve gotta go, Mommy. My personal goal is to be finished everything by 7:30.”

At age 7, his “personal goal” should be to see if he can squeeze 20 Cheetos into his cheeks. Something tells me one day he’s going to work for my former time-crazed company—and wonder why they’re so laid back.

Day 4

I wasn't the only one awake in the early hours at Linda's mom's house, which we’re visiting for a few days. I was, however, the only one trying to go back to sleep.

"Hi, Uncle John," my 8-year-old nephew Luis said too eagerly. He was sitting on a chair staring at me as I stretched out on the couch trying not to think about what time it was. Through one half-opened eye I guessed it was between 2 and 5 a.m.

The moon tap-tap-tapped on the window and asked Luis to keep it down. Luis, ignoring the moon, wanted to play.

It was hard to resist the little guy; before our arrival last night, he had advanced every clock in the house six hours to trick me in case I looked. (Too bad 8-year-olds can’t keep secrets.)

When I suggested he go back to sleep, Luis said, “I can’t. I haven’t been able to sleep for weeks—I’m too excited!”

Too cute, and if I could get my other eye to open or my face to move, I’d smile.

The great thing about visiting with family this week is that my time is not my own, so I don’t need to break it down like a chemist.

I wake up when someone wakes me, I eat when someone feeds me, I go where someone takes me. I’m a giant 2-year-old—and I assumed the role frighteningly easily. I just need someone to burp me.

Days 5 & 6

Mornings are the most disorienting time of day without clocks, especially when I wake up too early. At my mother-in-law Joan's house, I was up before the sun both days and wiped out by nighttime.

I sleep better in my own bed. Or maybe I awoke so early because Joan made me sleep outside in the pouring rain, howling wind, and surrounded by dogs. Or did I dream that during my measly two hours of sleep?

Not knowing the time is also confusing Linda, who, for at least the tenth time this week, asked me what time it was early Friday morning.

Joan isn't as time-obsessed as I've discovered I am, so she has fewer clocks in her house. I've caught myself checking the one in the kitchen, so I tried to stand with my back to it, even if it meant turning my back to someone who was talking. Especially if that someone was Linda.

After we'd left and arrived home, I made a deal with 7-year-old Daniel that night. He seemingly takes pride in being the first kid awake in the neighborhood and kindly includes us in his triumph.

But I needed a long night's sleep, so, using my best parenting skills to keep him away in the morning, I bribed him.

The next morning, one very happy little boy came to wake one very well-rested adult at the appointed hour. "Daddy, it's 9:30," said Daniel, smiling like he'd won a week's stay at Legoland. "Remember our deal?"

I said he could eat whatever he wanted for breakfast, so Daniel got pancakes, bacon, and sausages. And, he was allowed to eat in front of the TV--a paradise for Daniel, and comparable for adults to a two-hour massage (as long as it's not given by Carrot Top).

As Daniel enjoyed his breakfast, my friend Kevin stopped by with his son for a playdate. He saw the meal, purchased at a local restaurant, and said, "You know, you can actually make pancakes yourself. Oh wait, I forgot, you'd have to do more than open a can."

I'd be offended if it wasn't true, and if I hadn't just enjoyed my longest sleep in months. The sleep was so good, I want another night like it, but I need to come up with a new bribe.

If only there was a book with tips for the best ways to bribe your kid. Maybe I should write one. I'd call it Bribe Your Babies: 101 Offers Your Kid Can't Refuse. I sense a best-seller.

Day 7

How badly am I in time's grasp? You can't spell "time" without "me."

With one day left in the week, I cut my time checks to 14 occasions on Saturday--still almost once every waking hour. If that's a victory, so is finishing second in a presidential election.

Desperate times call for ... me to take my wife's advice. That's true desperation, I know, but Linda may have been right at the beginning. My willpower isn't enough, so I decided to cover the clocks in our house.

The main culprits are the clock on the family room TV box, the kitchen clock, and the clock over the oven. Combined, I turned to them for 11 of my 14 time checks on Saturday.

Linda watched time disappear as I draped towels over my enemies as if they were hoods. I felt like asking if the clocks had any last words.

Linda chimed in. "I need to wear a watch today" she said. She may be powerless against time, but I still had a day to prove myself.

Creature of habit that I am, I still looked at the towel-covered clocks several times throughout the day. Happily, though, I was oblivious to the time, and I missed an hour of the early NFL games.

I didn't eat lunch until around 2:30--I know that's roughly when halftime occurs--and I even avoided looking at the game clock while I watched.

I was winning for the first time all week! Not everyone was so happy, though, as the afternoon wore on.

Daniel was eager to go to his friends' house at 4--except the towels kept him from knowing the time.

After checking two covered clocks, Daniel whined, "Oh, come on! What time is it already?" What's wrong, I asked. "I just want to know how long til we leave," he said.

I couldn't help him, and I remained useless for the rest of the evening. We finished dinner with Phil and Gray, the four kids played, and we sat time-clueless on the back porch.

It was pitch black; because of my newly learned, highly developed sense of nature's rhythms, I narrowed the time to somewhere after 7 but before 6:30 in the morning.

I had two slip-ups for the day: I saw the time on the car radio during the ride over, and I checked their kitchen clock once. But those were my only time checks for the day.

I'd finally broken free from the hands of time. Well, sort of. When I awoke Monday, I immediately checked the time, but only because I know it missed me.