Newspaper cartoonists often employ the figure of ‘Father Time’ – the personification of time – in their end of year or new year illustrations to capture the passing of another year. Quite often the highly talented artist presents Father Time as an aged bearded gentleman, spectacles precariously perched on his nose, sporting a robe, supported by a cane, and carrying a fob watch or an hour glass, and, or, a scythe. Simply put, he is decrepit. It’s a stock image we tend to gloss over whilst scrutinising the cartoonist’s wisecrack. The subliminal reminder of the double entendre caricature, that time is creeping up on own personal lives, is also overlooked.
Time, the one common commodity afforded to all of us, yet which seems to possess all the properties of a glob of mercury – extremely useful, but impossible to control. The English rock band Pink Floyd confronted this haunting proposition, along with themes such as, conflict, greed, death and mental illness, in their 1973 classic album, “The Dark Side of the Moon,” the fourth best selling album of all time. The fourth track on the record, entitled “Time” begins with the stirring sounds of assorted clocks ticking and then chiming simultaneously (which were recorded at an antique clock shop). The poignant lyrics serve to remind us of the fragility of time. Here’s the emotive chorus between the first and second verses.
“Tired of lying in the sunshine, staying home to watch the rain
You are young and life is long, and there is time to kill today
And then one day you find ten years have got behind you
No one told you when to run, you missed the starting gun”
In one’s younger years – twenties, early thirties – there seems to be lots of time available to do everything – work, study, travel, party – one aspires to accomplish. Then time seems to accelerate; it moves faster and there seems to be less and less of it to spend. Where does it vanish to? When was the starting gun fired? At the start of every year, many adults, notably the older folks, make resolutions to work on some aspect of their personal lives where they feel an urgent need to improve upon, whether it is to quit smoking, or lose weight, or commence an exercise programme. Quite often these ambitious plans peter out within a few months, either through the lack of discipline or poor time management, or both factors.
Yet, while the stragglers grapple with the mystery of time, the masters of time are coasting along, getting stuff done. What’s their secret? Edwin Moses, the two-time Olympic gold medalist and former world record holder in the 400 metres hurdles event suggests an answer, “To be a world class athlete, one has to be selfish with one’s time. You have to learn to say no.” A top athlete will spend any where from four to six hours daily, five to six days per week, in training, and at least another ten hours daily sleeping/recovering. The commodity of time is extremely precious, spend it wisely, or it will spend you, the adage goes.
Nothing brings one face to face faster with the old man in the robe hobbling along with the cane than a funeral. Whether it be that of a relative, loved one, work colleague, childhood friend, or school mate, funerals have the profound effect of forcing us to confront our own mortality salience. Hearing of the death saddens us, attending the funeral and listening to the eulogy reignites our consciousness of the frailty of life and the importance of time. As one local funeral home director once observed, “The most repeated phrase I have heard is, ‘If only I had known.’ ”
Father Time, decrepit and hobbling, catches up with everyone at some stage. Elite sportsmen, still in the relative prime of their lives, are among the first group to feel the extent of his cold and ruthless wrath. His gnarled fingers grasping the throats of the reluctant sputtering retirees, who feel that time of departure has not yet arrived. The likes of Eric Cantona, the former French International footballer, who walked from the game in his prime, at the age of 30, are few and far between. The vain and the proud never succeed in eluding Father Time’s reach.
Father Time lurks behind every door, grudgingly dispensing vials of time, as the second chorus of Pink Floyd’s masterpiece notes,
“Every year is getting shorter never seem to find the time
Plans that either come to naught or half a page of scribbled lines”
As one comes to terms with Father Time’s inevitability, one would do well to put one’s house in order by preparing a will and informing the parties concerned. Maximising one’s time should be everyone’s daily goal, not waiting for Father Time.
