JIM HENDRICKS: A couple of changes I can do without

In a nation divided as deeply as America, there’s one thing we should all be able to agree on.

Could we please leave our clocks set at one time all year long?

Benjamin Franklin is often cited as an early proponent of imposing Daylight Saving Time on the American public, and I understand he was a founding father, did the kite thing with electricity that was pretty spiffy, got in a little newspaper work and was, in general, considered a pretty bright guy. But he also wanted to make the turkey the national bird and that would have left a considerable hole on the Thanksgiving table, so he wasn’t exactly perfect.

I don’t even care which time you want to keep, standard or daylight saving. Cut the difference by 30 minutes if you want. Just pick one, let me set my clock to it, and then leave me and my clock alone.

If we’re voting, by the way, I’d have to cast my ballot with my wife, who greatly prefers Daylight Saving Time on account of it gives her more daylight hours in the evening to fiddle around the yard. I, however, don’t care for yardwork all that much. I thought I’d just give it up for Lent, but I was informed that particular personal sacrifice, which I had already mentally steeled myself for, wasn’t in the true spirit of Lent.

So now I can’t eat any ice cream until Easter and I still get to do yardwork.

As the inimitable philosopher Chester A. Riley often stated so eloquently, “What a revoltin’ development.”

Church, by the way, is one of the first things that comes to mind for me when time-changing time rolls around. My Dad was pretty meticulous about certain things, so he always reset every clock in the house before going to bed on the Saturday night before clocks were supposed to spring forward or fall back an hour at 2 o’clock Sunday morning.

What would happen every spring was the front door of the church would creak open and everybody would turn and see a red-faced member or two of the congregation peeking in timidly, just in time to hear the benediction hymn, which I always thought was ironic when it happened to be “Just As I Am.” When it got to “Oh Lamb of God I come,” I’d manage to sneak in the word “late” at the end.

And the same folks would come in red-faced again in the fall, but for a different reason, because they got there an hour early and ended up having to sit through Sunday school on top of the church service and the pot roast was going to be overcooked when they finally got home. They might hem and haw, but they stayed. Once the preacher saw you at the church, there was no ducking out of Sunday school. He’d caught you fair and square.

One thing I’ve often wondered is why 2 a.m. was designated as the official changing time. I’ve seen numerous theories ranging from causing a bout of pseudo-time travel by moving it back at midnight to officials wanting to wait until bars were closed. But the closest thing to a definitive answer is probably this — it was a government decision.

Anyone who has filled out an income tax form, applied for student aid, or witnessed a government board or agency in action at any level from local to state and federal should have no problem accepting the notion that no government official would see anything wrong with instituting a policy that might make someone get up in the middle of the night for the sole purpose of adjusting a clock.

Still, the Stick With One Time Movement just can’t get political traction, so the prospects of getting rid of this biannual ritual are pretty depressingly slim. And, of course, depression drives you to comfort food. And nothing is quite as comforting as a big ol’ bowl of chocolate and vanilla ice …

Oh, dang. Where’s Riley when you need him? Probably out doing yardwork.

Email Jim Hendricks at [email protected]. Follow @ABH_JHendricks on Twitter.