Betsy McGee Forester Day--About Time

About Time

Betsy McGee Forester Day woke up early.   Her mother had forgotten to close the curtains the night before and the early sun streaming through her window had brought her out of a happy dream and into what was certain to be a happy day.

Mother said the days were “getting longer”—she would have to ask her what that meant.  She had been thinking about time more and more lately.  She thought she was about ready to try to figure out how to “tell time.”   Daddy would call from somewhere, “What time is it?”  Betsy wanted to say, “Silly, it’s now.”  But Mama would look up at the big clock in the kitchen or the little one in her office and call back something like, “It’s six-thirty.  Time to come in a clean up for dinner.”  Or “It’s almost eight thirty.  If you’re not careful you’ll be late for work.”  Or she would say, “Betsy McGee Forester Day, it’s eight thirty.  Time for bed.”  How could eight thirty be both time for work in the morning when the sun was shining and time for bed when it was almost dark.”  It was puzzling and a little worrying.  Yes it was definitely time for Betsy to study the clock to see if she could understand time. 

She knew some things about time.   The word “now” and “today” and “yesterday” and “tomorrow” she knew were times.  Christmas was a time.  Her birthday was a time.  But what did that have to do with the clock?  If she could read it would she be able to make it Christmas?  Or her birthday?   She didn’t think so.  Mama and Daddy could tell time and she was sure that when she said “I wish it was my birthday,” if they could have the clock make her wish come true they would.  But something about the clock and time were important to them.  She couldn’t hear anyone stirring.  Even Butterbutt was asleep.  She was lying in the sunlight coming through her window.  She needed to see a clock.  Maybe she could get out of her crib very quietly (over the side, down to the reading chair) and go and study the clock and get back before Daddy or Mama knew she was up.   She had thought it was time for a big girl bed for a long time, but Mother said, not till her fourth birthday.  (That was when her mother got her own big girl bed.)  She knew her mother thought the bars on the crib “kept her safe” and kept her from getting out of bed.  It was kind of silly, since she had been able to get out of her crib by herself for a long, long time, but if it made Mama feel good to think she was tucked up safe in her crib, well she had just learned to be careful.

She decided to go to the kitchen.  It had the biggest clock.  She got out of her crib and tiptoed past her parents’ room.  She could see and hear they were still sleeping.  Mama’s breaths were slow and Daddy was snoring a little.  Good!  In the kitchen she settled herself in a chair that had the best view of the clock.  OK.  It had big numbers going around in a circle and she could read them all.  Her Daddy had taught her numbers along with the alphabet song.  One, two, three, four . . . but she didn’t understand why after ten there was a one, one and then a one, two.  What did that mean? They must stand for eleven and twelve, but she wasn’t sure. 

Why were they in a circle?  What did they stand for?  And why were there three arrows on the clock.  She had watched them long enough one day to know that the skinny little arrow went fast.  The fat long arrow was faster than the little arrow that went very slowly indeed.  She could catch the long fat arrow moving sometimes if she watched a long time without blinking but she couldn’t catch the short fat one at all.  But she knew it must move because whenever she looked at it through the day it was in a different place.

She thought and thought and thought but the answer didn’t come.  She was about to give up and go back to her crib when all at once . . .

“Betsy McGee Forester Day!”  Daddy exclaimed.  He looked funny standing there in his bare feet and rumpled pajamas.  His hair looked very funny, standing up in clumps.  But even though he had said her favorite words the music was not happy music.  It was a little angry and even a little . . . scared.  “How did you get out of your crib?”

Betsy was not happy to have been caught but though she could keep a secret from her parents she couldn’t lie.  She almost did the day she played with Mama’s colors, but she didn’t.  She just couldn’t.  And after she was finished being upset Mama gave her her own colors.  So she didn’t lie now.  “Leg over the top.  Hold on.  Slide down to the reading chair.”

Betsy could see that her father was trying very hard not to smile his inside face was clearly smiling.  “How long have you been getting out on your own.”  (What did that mean “how long.”)  “I figured it out three a long time ago.  I think about ten Saturdays.  (Saturday was Daddy’s first at-home day of the week.  Betsy counted everything that had happened in Saturdays—up to ten.)

“And have you done this very often?”

Betsy’s face said:  “?”

“Have you done it a lot?”

“Not a lot.  I didn’t think you or Mama would be happy.”

“Well, young lady, we aren’t.  But once a thing is learned it can’t be unlearned.  I guess it’s time for us to get you a big girl bed.  If I promise to do that on Saturday will you promise not to get out of your crib till then?

“I guess,”  Betsy said sadly, but then she brightened.  “It would be easy to promise if you put a clock in my room.”

This time his outside face laughed out loud.  “Why do you want a clock?”

“I want to learn to tell time like you and Mama.”

“Ah . . . is that why you got up so early?”

“Yes.  But I haven’t figured it out so far.”

“I tell you what.  When I get home tonight Mama and I will make the kind of clock you need to learn to tell time.  My own father made one for me, but I think I was a lot older than you are now.  How will that do?”

“That’s fine!”

“Well, let’s get you back in bed before Mama wakes up.  I think it’s best if I explain all this to her.”

“OK, but I have to tinkle first.  No problems.”

“I’ll wait outside the door, just in case.”

“That’s good cause I want to ask you a question.  After ten, why does the clock say one, one and then one, two?”

While he waited outside the door Daddy thought about how to explain it.  “Those are the next two numbers after ten.  You don’t say, ‘one, one,’ you say ‘eleven’.   You know that.”

“I know it counting but not seeing.  Mother and I have elevenses. But we have elevenses at different times.”

“I think it’s just a saying for a morning snack. And, going on  ‘one, two’ is twelve.”

“That’s easy!  It’s a lot like ‘elves.’  Twelve. Twelve. Twelve.  Is that it or are there more.”

“Lot’s more.  More numbers than a person could count in her whole life.  More than the stars in the sky.”

“How will I ever learn them all?”  Betsy was suddenly very sad.

Daddy hurried to say:  “No, there’s an easy pattern—a trick.  When you learn a few more words you will be able to read any number.”

“Is ‘thirty’ one of them?”

“Yes.”

“Thought so!  Is it on the clock?”

“Yes!  How did you know that.”

“I just knew.  What’s next!?”

“Well, I’ll tell you what.  Let’s make the learning clock tonight and then I’ll show you how to know the numbers on it.  We’ll save the rest for Saturday.  What do you say?  Deal?”

Daddy took Betsy back to her bed.  She was very excited!  Eleven, twelve, eleven, twelve . . . “  The next thing Betsy knew her Mama was waking her up.

“Good morning, swee’pea.  Did you have a good sleep?”

“Oh, yes, Mama.