THE IMMORAL CLOCK
My great-grandmother owned a grandfather clock. It stood about six or seven feet tall and cried aloud:
TICK! TOCK! Tick! Tock!
As a small child, I stood in front of that clock fascinated.
"Why does it make that noise?" I asked.
"You see that pendulum going left to right, right to left, swinging back and forth? It's making that "Tick-Tock" noise."
This disturbed me.
I had clearly asked the wrong question.
I tried again.
"I mean - why does that thing have to swing back and forth and make the noise?"
(To her credit, my great-grandmother did not say, "You're too young to understand. When you get older - somebody will explain and you'll know.") Instead, she really made an effort on my behalf.
"A clock is a machine with one purpose only. It is a kind of map for time letting us know not WHERE we are, but WHEN we are."
Mind-blown - I swallowed hard and thought about her meaning.
I regrouped.
What exactly was it I was curious about and why could I not form the proper question to trigger the satisfaction of understanding?
She was watching my face as I struggled.
She pursed her lips and sighed.
She spoke sly words.
"Do you know what happens if I don't wind that clock twice a day?"
I had seen that happen - so I knew.
"IT STOPS".
She smiled.
"Not right away. It slows down. IT LIES. It becomes immoral and then dies."
(Explosion in my head.) I stood silent, saying nothing.
I think I said, "Thanks."
I probably just walked out of the room and made my way to my favorite thinking spot: on top of the roof of our house.
My great-grandfather had built our house in the late 1800s.
The two of them produced one child: my grandfather.
I falsely assumed a fact, not in evidence.
An obvious error of Logic. A "Grandfather clock" meant my own grandfather had built it.
Later that day, I approached my grandfather with my fresh line of questions about his clock.
He laughed and reported:
“The name grandfather clock was adopted after the song “Grandfather’s Clock,” written in 1876 by Henry Clay Work, became popular.”
Okaaaaay.
Back to square one.
Only one more question remained. I asked it carefully.
"Your mother told me that if she doesn't wind her clock twice a day it slows down, it starts to lie, becomes IMMORAL, and stops. What does she mean by that?"
I observed a change of weather in my grandfather's face, from sunny to stormy. Uh oh.
"My father...um, her husband ...um - he kept regular habits.
He was predictable and steady. He lost his job. That is when everything changed. He started drinking, gambling ...We couldn't depend on him anymore. He only thought of himself.
He won that clock in a poker game and brought it home like it was an important gift for mother. He wanted to get back into her 'good graces.' He wanted her to love him but he'd lost track of what a good husband provides in return."
I listened. He had paused lost in deep thoughts.
He continued.
"That's not how love works. If people who depend on you can't depend on you - they can't be expected to accept your useless and selfish behavior. "
I must have frowned. I'm sure I did. I said this:
"What about the clock?"
"My mother stopped loving my father. He lied. He cheated on her and got shot in the back by another gambler. That grandfather clock is not just a machine to her. It is a symbol of her world."
I was too young.
But I listened. I remembered.
When I got older I could playback the conversations in my head.
I suppose each of us is a kind of old-fashioned clock.
We need to be wound twice a day or we slow down, lie to ourselves and others and become immoral and then stop.
Or else?
We may know where we are - but become clueless as to WHEN we are ... no longer a value to ourselves or to others.
This world has become unstuck in time.
Terry Walstrom 