As a teen, I loved summer with its luxurious freedom, reading until three in the morning, sleeping until noon every day. Bliss. By the time I rose, my parents were long at work and the day was mine.
Until school restarted.
Usually, I looked forward to the resumption of classes with one exception: early mornings. After sleeping until noon and later, the return to a life dictated by the clock was always a trial.
By the time I reached high school, I had an alarm clock. Mine wasn’t anything fancy or digital, just a simple clock radio with an alarm. The radio came on 10 minutes before the buzzer and, much as I didn’t want to, I’d get up and get ready.
Adult life has responsibilities, though, and waking on time is one. Since both boys attend high school, disability or not, they have to be responsible, and I took them to the store to choose their own alarm clocks. Each made a selection and I smiled. No more fighting with Ian before school. Waking James? No problem; he wanted an alarm clock. The first day of school found me beaming with confidence.
Breakfast was ready when I heard their alarms. James’s sounded first, and I heard it interrupted two or three times. Ian’s rang next, but only once before it fell silent. I put their plates on the table and waited.
No boys.
I climbed the stairs and investigated. James had turned off his alarm and gone back to sleep. I don’t know how Ian did it, but he’d unplugged his alarm clock and it lay on the floor beside his bed.
They’d get it eventually. Meanwhile, I knew the old standby couldn’t be unplugged. I tickled their ribs and shrieked like a banshee.
“Wakey, wakey, eggs and bakey!”
William R. Bartlett lives in Belton with his family.