I Hate to be Late (in two parts)

Ever since I was a little girl, being on time was very important to me. I have a very distinct memory from when I was in the third or fourth grade, of a time when I was late to school. We lived in California at the time, and for some reason, there was a day in the middle of the week where school started earlier than the other days. I can imagine how irritating that was to parents. I mean, ending early one day a week (like my kids' school does) is one thing, but starting early? Come on.

We lived in an apartment complex that had a passageway onto the school grounds. I walked to school every morning, home for lunch, back to school and then home again. My grandparents had come to visit us all the way from Indiana. They weren't just any grandparents...they were THE Grandparents. While my mother worked as a nurse (after her divorce), my Grandma and Grandpa had been the ones taking care of me and my older sister. We were extremely close. I loved them so much and missed them terribly since we moved away. Their twice a year visits out to California were something I looked forward to and I would cry for days after they left to go back home. Seriously, days.

Well, it was the day for them to leave, and it happened to be on the day that school started earlier - a fact that neither my Mother or I remembered. I'm not surprised - it was just an emotional, stressful day to begin with. My grandparents were going to walk me to the gate that led to the school, tell me goodbye and then head back to Indiana. I was trying to be brave, swallowing and swallowing, trying to get rid of the ginormous lump in my throat.

And here's a question, 31 years later. Why did I have to go to school that day? Why did I even have to go to school that entire week? My GRANDPARENTS were visiting! From halfway across the country! Hmmmm? I shall be bringing this up with my mother at Sunday dinner.

Anyway, we made it to the gate, said goodbye, and I started to walk towards the school. Grandma and Grandpa started walking back through the apartment complex maze. Suddenly, I realized that the school grounds were empty! It was the early day...and I was LATE!

Fear and absolute horror washed over me. I lost it, bursting into tears, and running, screaming all the way to the gate. I think I was hyperventilating. My Grandma retold the story of how she could hear me shrieking "Grandma! Grandma!", and they ran back to meet me. I went back home, got a little more composed, and then my Grandma went to the office with me and checked me into school, walking with me, so I wouldn't be alone. Again, why did this poor, hysterical child have to go to school on this day? It was traumatic - I'm breaking out in a sweat just writing about it! The funny thing is, the fact that I was late was as traumatic as having my grandparents leave. At least that's how I remember it.

Being on time is still a huge deal for me. I like to be early even. All through school, any jobs that I've ever had, church, parties, etc., I'm itching to be on time. My family doesn't necessarily feel the same urgency, and that has led to many mornings of me screaming tapping my foot impatiently, while they poke along. If I am ever late - it has absolutely nothing to do with me - it's their doing, all of it.

I'm trying to get them to see that I don't ask for much - I just need to be on time. It's an actual need. Can they just please do this one little thing for me? Church, for example. If we are late, I would rather skip Sacrament Meeting than walk in and have people see me. But I need to be a good example to my kids and make sure they are there each week, so I go in. My stomach is in knots, I'm blushing fiercely, sweating, but I manage it. If you ever see me, walking in late to a church meeting, please know that I am dying inside, and that walking through those doors is possibly the bravest thing I've done all week. And it wasn't my fault!

If it takes 30 minutes to drive somewhere, how much time do you give yourself to get there? At least 40 minutes, right? You never know what traffic problems you'll run into. Troy thinks that every place in the valley can be reached within 20 minutes - and he hates to be early. He imagines that the roads will be clear and that there's always time to stop for a drink. Honestly, it's a wonder we've stayed married, our views on this are so different. The stereotype of the man waiting by the door, while his wife finishes getting ready...reverse that. At least he's willing to take the blame when he makes us late.

Needing to be on time - it's kind of my thing. Surprisingly, I'm not upset by other people who are late (unless they are making me late). Doesn't bother me in the least to have a friend late for a lunch date or to see others come into a church meeting late. Other people can be late all they want - maybe they have a traumatic childhood experience that involved being on time for something. To each, his own. Except for you, Troy, Cameron and Aaron. I need to be on time and that means you do too.

At least I thought it didn't bother me when other people are late. This post was actually going to be a rant of sorts, about...well, you'll just have to come back tomorrow. My storytelling got away from me. The BBQ ribs in the crock pot are falling apart, they want to be eaten so badly, and my family is waiting for me so we can watch Evan Almighty together. I wouldn't want to be late for that.

Late, on time, or early?
Does it matter to you?