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Telling Time Is Not As Easy As It Looks | |
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Learning to tell time doesn't have to be a psychologically traumaticexperience, but to me it was. My mother, otherwise a great mom, thoughtthat I, at four–years–old or so, should have that skill. To that end shedrew a series of clock–faces with hands in different positions andinstructed me to puzzle–out what, to me, was a hopelessly arcane andconfusing exercise. I didn't do well at all. For several weeks I hadnightmares about snarling clocks. I overheard my mom saying to my dad,"Frank, I'm afraid your son may have a severe learning disability." Myfather took my side. As I remember he said something like, "Whaddaya mean MYson?" My dad always took my side. I didn't know what a learning disability was, but I was pretty sure itwasn't good and that it had something to do with not being able to telltime. At that age I was not one to displease his mother. After all, I was inno position to cut out on my own. I applied myself, and by sixteen I wasable to tell time with the best of them. I did not own a wristwatch,however, until I was 37. That's when they came out with digital watches. Ifmy trusty digital timepiece read 7:24, then by God that's what time it was! What my mother never knew was that sometimes when I'm very tired and someoneasks me what time it is, and I'm wearing my expensive watch with hands andall, I have a tendency to say, "The big hand is on the three and the littlehand is on the two." But I'm still trying, mom.
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