Timothy Tick-Tock

The power of a good book is timeless. Whether it is a book recently enjoyed or a book from our childhood, emotions are stirred in with the words on the pages and we are left with fond memories. I was blessed to grow up in a home of books. We didn't have a lot of money to buy books but we sought out local resources. When a little country school down the road from us was closing (Rhoda Township #3, to be precise), my parents procured a large cabinet of books. The treasure trove was set up in our attic. I loved to take the creaky stairs to the top floor of our old farmhouse, breathe in the dusty smell of stored antique items and make my way to the library collection. Sometimes, I took the book back down the stairs to my bedroom on the second floor. Other times, I sprawled out on the ugly old pseudo-couch in the attic, hoping my mother wouldn't find me and assign another chore or two before I finished the book.

The poem titled, The Moo Cow Moo, gave me assurance that I wasn't the only farm girl who was afraid of cows. The classic poem, Oh Captain, My Captain, never failed to capture my attention with its beautiful turn of words. The Flicka, Ricka, Dicka book series shared the tales of three little Swedish triplet girls. Growing up with four sisters, I could relate to their adventures. The book entitled, Walter the Lazy Mouse, fueled my guilt vortex with reminders that lazy children always face dire consequences.

One book stood out, however, for its longevity in our family. The book was not flashy by an means. It had a burnt orange cover with an odd little stick figure on the front. The head of the figure was in the shape of a russet potato and the character's hands looked like little mittens. The illustrations in the book were done in black, white and the same burnt orange as the cover.

The main character's name is Billy and he is grumpy about always being told it is time for something. Time to go to school, time to go to bed, time to take a bath. He is sure his clock, named Timothy, is the reason for his distress so he hides the clock. As expected, his life becomes chaotic and he finally begs Timothy to teach him how to tell time. And, therein, lies the power of the nondescript little book. The book finishes with several pages of teaching the reader how to tell time. Minnie-The-Minute-Hand is long and goes fast like a rabbit. Howy-The-Hour-Hand is short and goes slowly like a turtle with short legs. The final page of the book shows Billy being tucked into bed after his Daddy reads him a story. "And Billy dreamed a happy dream about his new friend Timothy-Tick-Tock, who had a time for everything." The End.

One by one, my siblings and I used this book to help us tell time in the days of analog clocks. I still have the original book and am unable to part with it. Last week, I brought the book to my mother so we could share a memory together. Despite her dementia, she immediately recognized the book and exclaimed with sheer joy, "Timothy Tick-Tock!" My niece was visiting at the time and she asked Grandma to read the book while we sipped our tea. My mother took the book in her wrinkled hands and read each page with all the love, animation and expression of her youth. She beamed with accomplishment as she gently closed the book after the final page.

Further investigation revealed that most of my siblings made their mark on the book, literally. My oldest brother attempted to write his name in cursive inside the front cover. One of my younger sisters added our last name to my brother's name, also practicing her cursive. Clock pictures in the book had clock hands added to them and the back cover had my youngest sister's name written in it, practicing early manuscript (particularly amusing to my niece as it was her mother's handwriting.)

Timothy Tick-Tock once again reminded me that a good book is more than just words on a page. Time spent reading is time well spent.