Impatiently stranded

It is customary for many to review the past year, and make New Year’s resolutions. This is not a practice that I have subscribed to in the past, and I am not sure if this is exactly what I am attempting in this story. What I can relate with certainty, is that I have personal behavioral concerns which have been a part of my psyche for as long as I can remember. Two of these are intra-dependent … I have never been patient, and I am especially impatient when I feel stranded and unable to extricate myself from a place or situation.

My mannerisms are evidence that supports this thesis. The very first indication of my impatience was displayed at an early age when I battled with my parents about retiring for the night. During my adolescent years, the regular evening television shows concluded at 10 p.m. By the time I was in grade school, I always wanted to stay up in the living room (this was in that long ago era when American families like ours had only one television and it was in the place we called the living room).

My parents would tell me it was time for bed, but I argued relentlessly against this bedtime with my father to watch the local Channel 7 news. My father was farming in those days, and he always watched Earl Ludlum, the Channel 7 weatherman at about 10:15 p.m. If he acquiesced to my wishes, he would often say “it’s time for bed now” following the weather.

Once again, I litigated my bedtime with him. I would argue that it was imperative that I have just a few more minutes to watch Vic Cox, the Channel 7 sports reporter. Even at that age, I was a devotee of anything to do with sports. I would whine and mope each night until finally I think they just decided that it was not worth the effort anymore, and they moved my bedtime to 10:30 p.m. To this day, I am a late night retiree for sleep. I surmise that my instinct from childhood is that I am fearful of missing something while asleep.

Perhaps no indication of my impatience can better be described than to look back at my many years of comradeship and travel with my old friend Doug Campbell. It’s been just over a year since we lost him, but there is rarely a day that passes that his name and demeanor does not come up for discussion within our group of friends. If I in anyway resemble the title of this column, then Doug’s picture is on the front cover!

For local NHS sports fans attending games, there were countless sightings of Doug and myself. It did not matter where, when, or which sport was being contested, we never tired of appearing. There were so many memorable stories from our trips together.

Sixteen years ago this past Wednesday, Doug and I were both attending a basketball game at the Wynn Gymnasium. My life took a very devastating turn that evening. I experienced a sudden stroke, caused by a heart valve infection. The result was a loss of vision in the right side of both eyes.

Before that event, I had been the driver for most of our trips to see the out of town games. As a general rule, Doug preferred to drive, as he liked to go fast and furious. It is a testament to my former burn up the road skills, that he thoroughly enjoyed my cruising ability. His comment often was, “you’re bringing her home big man!”

After my health condition rendered me unable to operate a vehicle, our trips continued with Doug at the wheel. I wish I could tell you of the many conversations, arguments and retelling of the same stories that were part and parcel of those memorable trips.

What was always the case during our excursions, was our impatience and fear of wasting time through any form of delay or impediment. Doug loved to get from one place to another without making any unnecessary stops. That was always fine with me because I had the exact same impulses.

One thing we also had in common was our desire to be not only on time but to be early. If we said that he was to pick me up at a certain time, you could always count on him being there at least 5-10 minutes early.

We also shared the same lack of restraint when we had to endure anything that resembled a delay. This was manifested in slow traffic and equally lethargic food service. If traffic was moving slowly, we were like cats with long tails in a room full of rocking chairs!

When we stopped at a restaurant, prompt service was at the top of our wish list. If our waitress was slow, or the food was a long time in delivery, we both became quite edgy.

My fear of being stranded has been lifelong as well. Over the years, I have on a few occasions been at the mercy of someone else’s schedule. I like to be able to go someplace but leave at my pleasure. If I am made to wait even a short period, you can rest assured I will become irritable. This emotional response has become even more disconcerting now that I can no longer drive a vehicle.

Yes, I am definitely a person of little patience and nothing makes me more impatient than to be stranded with no relief in sight. I still don’t like to go to bed early. I don’t like to be late, or have others I have made plans with be so either. If you want to see me squirm, put me in some marooned situation.

There’s an old country song “Don’t fence me” that fit Doug and I perfectly. I can still hear him ... “Let’s Go!”