Tempus Fugit

When I was 13, asked my dad what the inscription on the face of the Grandfather clock meant and was informed, "It means 'Time Flies' Jimmy." He paused and then, looking at his feet quietly said, "Tempus Fugit...It's a warning."

It's been over 3 years since I last updated this blog.  Timothy is now 13, his brother is 12, I lived for a time in beautiful Minnesota 550 miles away from home, and my dad was eaten alive by cancer some two years ago.

His younger brother has been officially labeled "gifted and talented" by the public school system. He breezes through any text, any subject, and is invited to birthday parties; while his older brother Timothy struggles with subtraction, reads probably at a 3rd  grade level on good days, and is never invited to birthday parties.  For Tim, time is something to be planned for in discrete units as he meticulously parses out events that are meaningful to him on the calendar in the kitchen while the gap between him and his brother widens more each day.  ( Tim has a fascination not unheard of among autisitics: calendars and dates. He often surprizes us by giving the date instantly of a future day, like two weeks from the day after tomorrow.)

Like any proud parents we display the creations of each: huge, complex geometric designs precisely drawn by our youngest during his "M.C.Esher phase" share space next to clumsily lettered work sheets by Timothy showing addition of two digit numbers, done last month in school.

I try to peer forward...10 years, 20 years, 30 years to see what is in store for my kids.  I see my youngest successful and happy, perhaps making his way in his young adult life with an advanced degree from some university I cannot afford to buy lunch at let alone pay tuition.  I see Timothy....Happy?  Frustrated? Sad? Alone? Confused and terrified by his kaleidoscope world and forgotten by time?

Those years yet to come, if I've learned anything in 1/2 a century, I've learned those years will be like a tsunami...quietly rushing forward, quietly building out on the unformed, gray ocean of time. Then suddenly, entwining, and overwhelming with lightening speed before turning and dragging us all out to sea.

How do I ensure Timothy can make his way, as we all must, in something like that?

As I leave the shores of my first 1/2-century 3 years behind;  my dad's comment, uttered when he was the age I am now, stands dimly glowing through the twilight of 40 years gone: "Tempus Fugit...It's a warning.''

Tim, age 13 doing a 1,000 piece jigsaw puzzle. This is something he will not stop at until it is completed.