Time

This summer, I came across a collection of my father’s watches, an inexpensive assortment, a nod to his understated midwestern aesthetic and practicality. As long as the watch worked—told him what he needed to know, time and date—it was worth every bit of the $34.99 he paid for it. There is also a Westclox Pocket Ben, which I suspect belonged to my grandfather, Martin. It, too, is a practical piece, unadorned.

Discovering these watches prompted me to think about time and how much it seemed to stand still last year—“perpetual Tuesdays,” as a colleague lamented, holding us captive for an extended period. A numbing exactness threatened to cast a pall over the way we communicated with each other. Conversations that had been spontaneous and, therefore, unscripted and glorious, now needed to be scheduled with time limits, chat and recording options, and the power to mute.

In response, we reimagined what school looked like, and our teachers and their students found new ways to connect and inspire. Our community refused to submit to the woeful calls of paralysis, instead acknowledging the time we were in and showing Poly’s resilience and spiritedness. As our colleagues and students have returned to campus this fall, familiar energy has filled the nooks and crannies of our conversations and daily lives. Curiosity, a necessary tonic for an exceptional education and a vibrant community, has found, once again, the fertile ground that comes with walking alongside someone or eating lunch together. We are indeed “stronger together.”

I wonder about the moments my father glanced at his watch and how they defined his life. As a physician, he measured time while listening to his patients’ heartbeats through his stethoscope. At home, I have an image of him checking his watch repeatedly so we would never be late—a trait that my kids regret was passed down to me. For now, these watches will remain together, suspended in a moment, holding his stories and reminding me about how important our time together truly is.

JWB