Time Flies--I Can't ...

 

My dad liked silly jokes. He probably liked the "other kind," too (after all, he grew up on an Oregon farm with many brothers and spent lots of years in the military--on active duty and in the reserves), but he rarely shared such stories with his impressionable young sons.

One of his silly ones was this: "Time flies--I can't--they go too fast." (My own grandsons had to think a minute before they caught on--so don't feel bad if you do, too.) (And, when I was a kid, it took me, oh, about a century to figure it out.)

Anyway, for me the old expression "Time flies" seems pathetic right now--woefully inadequate (to quote a teacher's comment on an essay I wrote in high school). Time, for me, now approaches the speed of light.

Just a few for-instances:

• Our son just turned 48. When I taught him in eighth grade (1985-86), I turned 41.
• Our elder grandson begins 10th grade this year.
• I am only about ten years younger than my father was when he died (he was 86). I thought he was beyond ancient. (I was a puppy then--just 55.)
• The first seventh graders I taught in Aurora (1966-67) are now eligible for Social Security and Medicare.
• Enough.

But COVID times, it seems, have accelerated things for me. Today is Friday ... but how can that be? Yesterday was Friday, wasn't it? I mean, wasn't it just yesterday that Joyce and I drove down to Szalay's Farm and Market to buy some corn and other goodies? Are we really going to do that again this evening?

And tomorrow morning I will feed my sourdough starter for my Sunday baking. Didn't I do that just yesterday?

The eight scones I baked last week are almost gone--is it really time to mix-and-bake again?

And didn't I just screw up the courage to get a haircut the other day? No, it was five weeks ago.

Didn't I just visit with my oncologist earlier this week? No, it was more than a month ago.

And weren't Joyce and I married just last Christmas? No, it was fifty-one years ago.

Didn't I ...?

You get it.

I imagine all of this is a factor of aging. I mean, I don't remember feeling this way at all when I was younger--in fact, I thought time dragged. I actually recall sitting in study hall in 7th grade and realizing that I was only halfway through my school years. Tears formed. How could I endure it any longer?

And then it was over--and then college was over--and then grad school was over--and then our son left home to commence his own independent life--and then my teaching career was over--and then my parents were both gone--and then (let's not get into that!).

So I sit here wondering: Is it COVID that's accelerating things? Or is it something more ... insidious?

***

PS: This seems all familiar as I write it--didn't I write on the same topic yesterday? I jut checked: I did write on this topic back in early March--and used a similar title and some of the same illustrations, examples, and Dad's joke!

So it took me just about five months to forget I'd done it. Good sign or not? Let's not discuss it.

Maybe time flies because my memory is flying?