Iannuccilli: Time On My Wrist

Iannuccilli: Time On My Wrist

I remember the day in the fifth grade when my father gave me a wristwatch. It sported a small rectangular face and a tan wristband (maybe even leather) which I quickly learned to fasten with one hand. It was a Waltham Premier, made in nearby Massachusetts. I loved it, so much so that I rolled up my sleeves to brandish it as often as I could.

Dad showed me how to remove the back to see the inner workings. There was a tiny notch on the rear cover that I was able to pry, rather pop, open with the thin blade of my jackknife. I could watch the passage of time, studying the intricacies of wheels, springs, and spokes synchronized to perfection, oscillating at a constant rate with clockwork precision to measure the passing time. “Don’t ever touch those moving wheels, Edward. You’ll ruin the watch. Someone had to put them together by hand, one piece at a time.”

He continued.  “Be sure to wind it every day if you want it to give you the correct time.”  No issue for me.  In those days, I was more concerned with being a watch wearer than a time teller.

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Dad gave me the watch when he was given a neat Navy watch at The Naval Air Station where he worked. I knew the military recognized the value of time because I had seen many an Army movie, and I remembered the oft-heard phrase, “Be sure to synchronize watches.”

Dad, my grandfathers, and the old-timers also had pocket watches which they wore on special occasions. I hoped to inherit one of those, complete with fob, one day.

My teacher walked by when I was writing with pen and ink, steadying my paper at the top left with my left hand, err rather, my watch hand, sleeve rolled up. “That’s a beautiful watch, Edward. Where did you get it?’

“My father gave it to me,” I replied, calmly elevating my arm to rest on my elbow or scratching the back of my head so everyone could see the gleaming beauty.

I learned how to tell time. I assume I started young with first understanding the difference between PM and AM as in, “Five PM, bath time, Edward,” Mom announced on a Saturday night. On Sunday, “Get up, Edward. It’s eight AM, time for church,” or “Be home by five-thirty for supper.”

Today, I feel naked and unadorned without a wristwatch. When  I look at it, I  feel a sense of comfort, not only because I have ready access to time right there on my wrist, but also because I can remember that my father trusted me with The Waltham so many years ago. It was my best mechanical friend.

I never had to change The Waltham’s battery. There was none. I was able to control time for the first and maybe only time, stopping the watch by not winding it.

If I stop my watch today, will I go back in time? Certainly. Well …

 

Ed Iannuccilli is the author of "Growing up Italian" and "What Ever Happened to Sunday Dinner?" and "My Story Continues"  can be found here.