How Much Longer?
Shane is running the timer for his school’s Morning Show.
“What do you have to do?” I asked him.
“I have to time the beginning song,” he said. “And if there’s a video, I have to time that, too. And then when it starts, I wait for the guy to push the space bar, and then I start the timer.”
“Wow,” I told him, “Your job sounds very important.” I went on to tell him about professional TV news and sporting events, where timers are used extensively to make sure that commercials run as scheduled. I explained that going over or under the time could result in not being able to run a commercial ($$$) or worse, dead air.
Shane seems quite pleased with his position.
To be quite honest, though, had I known there was a timer position available, I would have recommended Shane from the age of two to do the job.
When he was little, Shane was rarely put into time out. He didn’t do much, other than lie on the floor and play with toys, so he rarely got into any trouble. He had some trouble putting away his toys, and still does, but for the most part, he wasn’t often “in trouble.”
Dylan, on the other hand, was three years older, and rambunctious. Before we knew he had ADHD, we were just trying to keep him still for one minute at a time.
Dylan was in time out a lot.
He would whine and mope and stamp to the stool, where he plopped himself down with clear disgust. Then, every 14 seconds, Dylan would say, “How much longer?”
I eventually learned to set a timer, so that Dylan could see how much longer. One minute for each year of his life = five minutes. As soon as he was on the stool, I would start the timer.
Shane would watch quietly from a distance.
After a few days maybe, Shane realized what was going on. “Time out” meant “timer countdown.”
So, at the age of two, he would wait until he was sure I was looking at him. Then he would pick up a toy and throw it against the wall.
“Oh no,” I said, the first time it happened. “We do not throw toys! You’re going to have to go to time out. I’m really sorry but ….”
Shane went racing across the room, as fast as his little legs could carry him. He plopped himself down on the stool and looked eagerly at the timer.
At the time, I still didn’t get it. “Okay, Shane,” I said, pushing the buttons. “You have to sit here for two minutes.”
“Okay,” he said in his darling monotone toddler voice. Then he stared at the timer, watching every one of the 120 seconds tick by.
Afterward, Shane regularly put himself into time out. Eventually I figured out that he just wanted to watch the timer.
So to say that he is happy with his Morning Show job would be a genuine understatement.
Because of Shane’s obsession with numbers, which apparently started in the womb, I always thought he’d make a great accountant, or maybe he could do something with statistics. But I am open to ideas, if anyone has one, for a good profession for someone who just wants to watch time go by.