Alarms!

I have a love/hate relationship with alarm clocks. Actually, to be perfectly clear, it’s more of a “sorta like”/hate relationship.

When I was a kid and not yet going to school, waking up was an absolute delight; eyes slowly opening, all comfy and warm under the covers, and the prospect of a really sugary breakfast cereal or bacon and eggs for breakfast. I still have dreams like that.

Then, one September, I was introduced to the school thing and a new early morning regimen. The first few days were quite exciting. The second week, not so much. When I found out I had to do this for the rest of the year, actually, until next summer, well, I was devastated. At least Mom still let me have the sugary cereal a few times a week.

The waking up thing was a problem, so my folks invested in an alarm clock for me. It was a digital clock, lots of buttons and shiny bits, so I took to it right away. I spent the first night waking up every hour on the hour to see what time it was. Ah, the good ol’ days…

The relationship soured one early morning a few years later. I had to be up at about 4:30 am to get ready for a hockey practice. I decided that I should have a really good sleep, so I bunked in downstairs in my dad’s office. No windows, soundproof and I wouldn’t wake anyone else up with my alarm. With the door shut, it as black as an Egyptian tomb. Perfect for a good, restful sleep before hockey.

Since I didn’t want to reset my digital clock, I borrowed my brother’s wind up clock. This was a classic large-faced, double-bell clapper clock that could have been used in horror films, the tick-tocking was so loud. I set the time and went to bed and I swear the ticking got louder and louder as the night went by. I think I got some sleep, but I may have just been hypnotised...

At 4:27 am, the alarm went off. Has anyone stood under a fire alarm bell as it’s gone off? How about standing near a police car or fire truck when the siren is turned on? Double that noise and you’ll have a grasp of what I heard, just above my pillow.

Not having a light on, or even a nightlight of any sort, I launched out of my sleeping bag with one convulsive clench of all my muscles, bounced off the roof, hit one wall and shot in the direction of where the door was supposed to be. It was nice to have a dark room, but this was ridiculous. I ricocheted off the fireplace, rebounded off the floor and ended up face down in my pillow. This gave just the reference point I needed to find the darn clock and stick my finger between the clapper and the bells.

As I lay there, gasping for breath, wondering who I was, I wondered if it were true that your heart could leap out of your chest because mine was making a determined effort at that moment.

I have tried to avoid clocks since that day, tolerating them only I had to get to work on time, so I could eat on a regular basis. Eating is important. I’ve tried clocks that start quietly, then get louder if you don’t silence them in time. I had a clock shaped like a baseball, that would only turn off when you threw it against a wall. I have to admit, that was a favourite.

Since I’ve become a parent of teens, I have to say that I am getting better. Not that you’ll see me with a clock in my bedroom or anything. I’m just saying that finding a good ol’ double-clapper-bell, wind-up clock was wonderful this Christmas. I don’t even mind getting up at 4:30 am anymore. Just the chance to put it in my kid’s room, set for 6:45 am on a Saturday morning, is worth the effort. There are some childhood memories that need to be shared.