So, it’s time to move the clock forward — set it an hour ahead and get more sunlight.
Woo-hoo.
Please, when reading the above phrase, make sure to convey a mocking tone because I do not appreciate this time change.
I know, I know — it’s an unpopular view I have. I’m aware it’s unpopular because people have been telling me since I was a kid how wrong I am to dislike that extra hour of sunlight.
I guess there was a time in my life when I enjoyed the longer days. Perhaps when I was a sportswriter covering softball games during the summer? Adult softball — men’s, women’s, fastpitch, modified pitch, unlimited arc and Church leagues — so my evenings were spent at various softball fields in the area — Wierman, Chiccino, JFK — a great way to spend the summer. But I soon realized that the longer the sun was up, the less chance there was that I’d have to fight off gnats and mosquitoes. Otherwise, I’d douse myself with Avon’s Skin So Soft to ward off those annoying insects.
But for the most part, once that clock moves forward, I’m looking forward to when it goes back. And it has nothing to do with losing an hour of sleep. That was only an issue when my kids were little and the time change caused chaos where there was once nightly routine and order. Once they got to the age where they put themselves to bed, that hour less of sleep for one night was just a blip on my radar.
I think my problem with Daylight Saving Time — the official term when clocks are advanced an hour — is deeply rooted in my childhood — and the fact that I grew up in a house without air conditioners.
Of course, when I was a kid (way back when) air conditioning was a luxury. No one I knew had air conditioning. But that didn’t make things easier — more difficult perhaps, since there was no place to find relief other than malls and movie theaters.
So, from the end of May to September, sweat dripped off of me. But the worst, the absolute worst, was the nighttime.
My sister and I shared the front bedroom, which featured three front windows and a side window. We moved in there after my dad died because it was bigger than the middle room — so my mom switched with us. I really wanted my twin bed next to the side window — for the breeze I could enjoy, for star gazing and to watch the birds in the tree next to our house. But my teenage sister, as a wise and selfless 16-year-old (again, please add a sarcastic tone), convinced me that she should take that bed. That way, if a fugitive from the FBI’s 10 Most Wanted list climbed up the tree, it would be Beth he took as a hostage and not me. Seriously, this was her argument — keep in mind the television show “The FBI” was must-see-TV for the Kehoe boys, and me by default since we only had one TV. Beth then doubled-down and reminded me that lightning is attracted to tall trees, and it would be horrible if a bolt hit our tree, thereby electrocuting anyone sleeping in the bed by the window.
Soooo, Beth got the bed by the window.
For some reason my mom had an industrial-sized window fan. This thing was a monster of force, and fit perfectly in our front window. So, the deal was to turn the fan on exhaust (blowing out), close the side bedroom window and the other doors upstairs, and turn the fan on high. The fan sucked up and out all the hot air in the house, and a created a slight breeze throughout.
But not in my room. My room had all the warm air.
During the night, Beth and I could open the side window and close our door, creating a strong wind tunnel. I was able to dry my thick hair just by sitting on Beth’s bed.
Although it might seem cool in theory, it wasn't. The air was still warm. So, the best solution was to sleep without blankets or sheets, right?
For someone who isn't Beth's little sister, that would be right. But for me, it wasn't that simple.
My sister found it very fun to, after the lights were out and I was trying to sleep, say in a very scary voice, “I’m under the bed and I’m going to get you.” Or “I’m in the closet and I’m going to get you.” The location of the unseen murderer changed, but the intention remained. And it affected me a lot.
Even now, as an adult, I have to sleep with at least a sheet over me, no matter how uncomfortable (to hide from that murderer in my room), and my closet door must be closed.
Just so you know, Beth is considered by everyone as the kindest person ever. And that's true now. My sister Mary Beth is the best sister and friend anyone could ask for.
Not so much when she was a teenager.
I know the benefits of that extra hour of sunlight and I understand why people think I'm wrong. I accept that. It's good for the farmers, the energy bill, etc… But to me, there's nothing more relaxing than wearing comfy, oversized sweatpants and a sweatshirt (with a turtleneck — my favorite clothing) and sitting in a room lit only by the glare of the TV. Yes, I lead a very exciting life (sarcasm included).
But, truth be told, that's how I recharge. I'm a proud introvert — I find great comfort in my alone time. Even as a kid, I would hope for rain so I had an excuse not to leave the house. There's a lot of pressure for a kid to “go out and play” when all I wanted was to sit at home, watch old movies or reruns of the “Dick Van Dyke Show” and “I Love Lucy.”
Mostly, it boils down to this — my introverted self would rather avoid those extra hours of sunlight. Fortunately, it's easier as an adult to deal with the downsides of those longer summer days. Thank goodness air conditioning is now an affordable necessity. There's no pressure to “go outside and play” because 1) my friends understand and accept my introverted nature, and 2) they play golf, which is usually in the morning, so that works for me.
Best of all — my sister and I no longer share a bedroom — so I can go to my room at night, turn on the air conditioner, close the closet doors tightly and feel confident that there's no one hiding under my bed waiting to get me.
Contact Cheryl Kehoe Rodgers by emailing [email protected]
