A Time for Everything

“There is a time for everything, boys. There is a time for a work, a time for play, a time for quiet, and a time for laughing,” my Dad used to say. That was his philosophy. To our chagrin, my Dad’s slices of time did not seem to have a balance. There always seemed to be a lot more time allocated for chores and working around our little “ranch” than there was for play. It also seemed like the quiet times – like sitting in Church with our hands folded in our lap – took a long time to go by. We understood that sometimes children are not meant to be heard. When we would sit in church, one on each side of Dad, we understood that was the time for silence and at least feigned attentiveness. He had a very subtle way of giving you a painful but harmless thump on the ear if you had momentary forgetfulness in regards to where you were or what was expected of you. So, from the ages of 4 and 8, my little brother and I always understood there was a time for everything – whether we liked it or not!

Our Mom had the same philosophy but she was a little more balanced. She made sure we had time for “Scooby-Doo” and “Johnny Quest” on the Saturday morning cartoons before we put on our work clothes to go out and help Dad. Dad was in the business of developing young men, establishing disciplines, planting seeds of responsibility and work ethic. Mom cheered on for those things but she was the staunch defender of “children need time to be children” perspective. They each had vastly different upbringings and they were two people who definitely tended to parent the way they were parented. There hadn’t been much emotional support for Dad, just expectations piled upon expectations. For Mom, she had been surrounded with emotional support with minimal expectations. In some ways, they complemented each other. Other times, it felt like there was always a subliminal war going on as their styles, philosophies, and backgrounds clashed.

Since we were taught from very early ages that there were consequences in life, my brother and I didn’t rebel too often. The consequences did not seem worth it and there wasn’t much chance that either of our parents were bluffing. That was not a part of their repertoire. For most part, when they said “Jump”, we did our best to comply. Part of it was the fear of the discipline (an occasional spanking or standing in the corner). Part of it was we just didn’t want to disappoint them. However, we were given to bouts of uncontrollable laughter at times. Just as we could fight at the drop of a hat for little or no reason we could just get lost laughing together for no explicable reason. Thankfully, we outgrew the figthts but we carried that ability to entertain each other into our fifties. Then, I guess, life caught up to us and the laughter dried up.

I remember one evening we were called to dinner and we ran in to take our places at the table. Something already had us going but, knowing the rules, we tried to keep the laughter buried down in our souls. We all bowed our heads and Dad blessed the food we were about to eat. Slowly, I lifted my head and looked directly at my brother. I could feel my shoulders starting to shake as I tried to control the laughter that was trying to burst from the fortress of my self control. I don’t think in that moment, I even knew what was amusing me in such a way. Lyman’s eyes met mind and the dining room exploded with childish laughter, tears rolling from our eyes, hands clutching our stomachs.

Dad smiled at both of us,”What’s so funny, boys?”

We tried to suppress our laughter but it exploded again when I answered,”I don’t think we know, Dad.”

Mom was trying to fight back her own laughter as she watched us because we all know mothers love to hear their children laugh.

“Well, laughter is good, boys,”Dad dished some of Mom’s casserole onto his plate,”But this is dinner time so, if this isn’t something that can be shared, let’s focus on eating and sharing this time together.”

“Yes, sir,”we mumbled, trying to focus our attention on dishing up our dinner plates. There was a few minutes of forced silence as we took our first bites but then our eyes met across the table and the laughter erupted again. Uncontrollable laughter that, in my old age, I wish we could have bottled so that could have keep it stored for these later days when it is harder to find.

“Boys, this is dinner time,”Dad’s blues eyes were getting a little icier,”So let’s get ourselves under control. Or you can leave the table until you can find some manners.”

“Yes, sir,” we both replied, trying desperately to catch a breath and suppress the giggles. I took three deep breaths, looked at my little brother, and lost it all over again.

“Okay, that’s it!”Dad exclaimed. “You are excused. If you get hungry enough maybe you will find some self control!” He pointed down the hallway that led to our bedrooms,”Go to your rooms. You are welcome to come back to the table when you can conduct yourselves like gentlemen.”

We slid off our chairs and walked back to our rooms, not looking at each other. Our first and only bites of dinner had been tasty and we had worked up an appetite. We had, after all, been going hard all day. Our bedroom doors faced each other so we both made turns to go into our rooms but, as if on cue, we turned and sat down in the doorways, facing each other. The tension of being disciplined hung in the air. Fear and shame tugged at our consciences. And then, our eyes met and it all didn’t matter anymore because laughter was going to rule this day and, regardless of the reason or the repercussions it would not be suppressed.

So two hungry boys sat on their bottoms for the next fifteen minutes, bent double in laughter. Tears rolled from our eyes and we clutched our stomachs as we tried to catch a breath through the spasms of happiness we were obviously feeling. It was sheer bliss!

Suddenly exhausted, I collapsed backwards on my back, taking deep breaths. I stared up at the ceiling,”Do you remember what started this?”

“No,”Lyman replied,”But I sure am hungry.”

Our plates were still at the table but Mom and Dad had moved on. Our food had gone cold but it was still pretty good – a fine dessert for a main course of pure hilarity. There is a time for everything.