A Summer's Tale

A Summer’s Tale

A balmy summer evening - powder blue skies, a manicured garden and a quietness that pervades the senses and rests your soul. It's that part of the day to sit on the terrace with a tipple of your choosing and watch the hummingbirds feed while errant deer wander in the garden. The days seem endless with night drawing in so much later. Where am I? Canada, West Coast BC. and it is August ,2025. And on this day, yet unknown to me, I will encounter a different point of view on a daily event repeated again and again across different countries and different cultures. That encounter of a different view was neither planned nor expected. Surely the tried and tested modus vivendi that support this daily event will be exacted as it has been for millennia? But life twists and turns and surprises you. That day in August was one of those days. Let me explain.

When I was young, just a boy, I was told to go to bed because it was bedtime. I never questioned that instruction and always complied. I did have a Teddy Bear for comfort, and I think I may have been allowed a book. But what was never in question was bed at bedtime and sleep. Winter, Spring or Summer the routine rarely changed. And that routine has always been my modus operandi-bed at a regular time- and sleep. In my twenties I married and in rapid succession three boys arrived with just four years between the three of them. They too would be sent to bed at the appropriate time and have a story read to them and then, door closed, they were to sleep. Should they get out of bed and come down the stairs they were dispatched back to bed in short order. It is those three sons that migrated to Canada and two of them putting down roots in British Columbia where I lay my tale. This story has its origins in Comox Town, Vancouver Island, BC.

Two of the three boys have children of their own with the middle son having a son and daughter. He lives and works in the town of Comox and both children go to local schools. The boy is six years old, and the girl is just four. Those parents that have such young offspring will know how busy and demanding they can be: always something to do; keep them busy and keep them engaged. This day is such a day with the two grandchildren about to enjoy events and activities set around Mount Washington that is just a thirty-minute drive from the town of Comox. Get the children outdoors with plenty of fresh air to wear them out! Ironically, the more attempts to wear them out often bring about more energy and more enthusiasm for doing more of whatever might be on offer. We start the 'attempt to wear them out boot camp' with a hike. The large notice board at Mount Washington shows plans of hikes and choices of route to suit moods or abilities- with stops along the way to enjoy and feed the ubiquitous Whisky Jacks who enthusiastically help themselves to seeds held in your open hand. The next stop in keeping the kids engaged is the ski lift languorously dipping and rising taking us to the top of the mountain with its glorious vista. And who is taking advantage of the day on offer? Both grandchildren are enjoying all the planned activities including being pushed on swings and roundabouts, including the protagonist in this saga: my granddaughter, Maren, a young girl of just four years. The afternoon becomes early evening and it's the end of the trip on Mount Washington with weary travelers heading home. At home shoes, jackets and back packs are dumped, something to eat is made available (eaten unenthusiastically by the children) and, finally, with some relief seen on the faces of the parents’ time for the kids to 'turn in.' It's bedtime.

Time for sleep has arrived and I have volunteered to put my granddaughter to bed. My well-rehearsed 'sleep' routine begins with stories, hands held, encouraging smiles at my grandaughter and the whispered truth, stated with conviction while looking at her, that, ‘Tomorrow is another day Maren, and you will need all your energy... time for sleep.’ That logic and option did not apply on this day in August. This is what happened…

‘It’s not night,' she said.

‘Yes… it is night,' I said, 'and it’s well past your bedtime. Lie down please.’

‘No... night is dark, and the sun is shining outside so it's not night.’

‘Yes, it is night, it’s just at this time of year the ‘night’ is light and not dark.’ (She does have a point.)

‘No …it’s light and not night,' she said. 'The sun is shining. The sun shines in the day.’

You follow her line of thinking? The conversation carried on but any attempt to move her thinking -or behaviour -achieved nothing. By now she was trying on her mother's clothes and looking out of the window.

Readers of this tale may well be saying,' been there and done it ...and got the T shirt.' The luxury of being the grandparent on this occasion was to reflect that I was unwilling to challenge her logic that had some foundation. Plus, the parents (who had gone out for the evening) would return at some point and achieve what I was demonstrably not achieving viz: a child in bed and asleep. Any tips? Most people I share the story with smile. This is where the nineteenth century poet comes in.

And does it seem so hard to you,

When all the sky is clear and blue,

And I should like so much to play,

To have to go to bed by day?

(Robert Louis Stevenson. 1850-1894)

Perhaps I should have tried poetry?... Good luck with that one you muse.

I don't think Maren would disagree with a perspective that sees sleep as important though I know for sure I was being 'played' very successfully by a four-year-old. Eventually the parents reappeared with both children beating a hasty retreat to compliance. (Her brother, facing the challenge set down by his grandmother likewise found relaxing and sleeping a poor second cousin to motor cars and hiding under the bed. Though unlike his sister he did not offer an alternative perspective for when sleep should be in play.)

Different perspectives on this day brought about different behavioral outcomes. Vive la difference!