At 5 minutes till 1, Dad yells, "It's 12:55, what is that?"

"Dad, it's an hour past midnight," I respond.

"Oh . . ."

At 3:15 he yells, "What time it be?"

"3:15, Dad, still nighttime," I answer.

At 4:00, I'm so soundly asleep he hobbles over and grabs my toe. "Is it time yet?" he asks.

"No, Dad, it's only 4 a.m.," I say. "Look outside. See, it's dark. That means it's still bedtime."

"Not always!" he yells back at me.

At 4:30 Dad is trying to dress again.

"Dad, it's only 4:30."

"Well ... so?"

"It's still nighttime, Dad."

He's clearly aggravated now, not understanding how it can still be night.

"I'm not gonna be around much longer!" he retorts.

At 4:45 he's up and trying to dress again. He is still not comprehending time's slow passage. Is it time for another mini-mental assessment?

He is up again at 5 a.m. I take the shirt out of his hands and direct him back to bed.

"Well, what time is church, anyway?" he asks.

For the 6th or 7th time I tell him today is Wednesday, not Sunday. "I go to work today, we don't go to church this morning."

"OH! Why didn't you say so!" he exclaims.

At 6:45 it's time to get up and dress Dad for breakfast and for me to get ready for work.

And now, he sleeps . . .