Raising the Odd Couple

When it came to raising our two older sons I felt like the former Mrs. Bagley and I were raising Felix and Oscar from the old television show, The Odd Couple. Weekday mornings during the school year were a prime example.

At 5:30 in the morning the silence in the house would be shattered by eldest son’s alarm clock. As mentioned in a previous post, the alarm on eldest son’s clock sounded very much like the alarm announcing an attempted prison break. It’s loud screeched could’ve peeled the makeup off the face of Tammy Fay Baker, who, as you may recall, looked like she’d spent six months in intensive care at Max Factor.

Now, eldest son was a good sleeper—the kid could’ve slept through Hurricane Katrina—so naturally he’d sleep through the alarm. Of course, this meant someone (meaning me) had to roust eldest son awake.

Feeling my way in the dark to the hall light switch, I’d stumble over my shoes and crash into our dresser before finding the switch and turning on the light. I’d then clumsily make my way to eldest son’s room, where he was sleeping soundly, not bothered at all by the screeching alarm clock sitting within arms reach on his nightstand.

I’d shake him by the leg and loudly tell him it was time to get up, at which point he’d blindly reach for his clock and push the snooze button. That was my signal to leave him for the time being and go wake up middle son.

Middle son was the exact opposite of his brother. As soon as he heard me call his name he’d jump out of bed, stretch, and head to the bathroom to shower and prepare for the day.

Once middle son was up and going, I’d head back to bed and try to fall asleep. Just as I’d start drifting off to dreamland eldest son’s alarm would sound again. I’d shake the cobwebs from my head and meander back to his room. About the time I’d get there he’d stick his arm out from beneath the covers of his bed and, once again, hit the snooze button.

By now, middle son would be out of the shower and getting dressed. Me? I’d be heading back to bed to try and get a little more rest, but just as my eyes would start to get heavy with sleep I’d hear, BEEP! BEEP! BEEP! BEEP! Eldest son’s confounded alarm again!

By this time I won’t leave his room until he can carry on a fairly coherent conversation. The only problem was he could converse in his sleep very well, so I’d head back to bed only to return fifteen minutes later to shut off that annoying alarm clock once and for all.

Next, middle son would begin the countdown. You see, he was known as the “Time Keeper” in our family and for good reason. About an hour before it was time to leave for some event, he’d start counting off the time, minute by minute.

“It’s two o’clock. We need to leave in sixty minutes!” he’d holler. One minute later and, “It’s one minute past two. We need to leave in fifty-nine minutes,” etc.

School mornings, he’d pause the countdown long enough to crank up the stereo to his favorite Rock station, which is all it’d take to finally roust eldest son out of bed—at that time in his life, eldest son preferred Country Music.

Eldest son would then stagger, like a drunken sailor on shore leave, to the bathroom to prepare for the day.

“It’s six-fifteen! Our ride will be here in 45 minutes!” the Time Keeper would holler.

“Knock it off!” Eldest would retort, while cranking up his radio in the bathroom to drown younger sibling’s Rock Music.

“Hurry up then. You’re going to make us late . . . AGAIN!” would be middle son’s reply. And the conversation between the two always deteriorated from there.

Soon, above the noise of both radios they’d begin arguing over every little thing they could think of: Country Music versus Rock Music, arriving early to an event versus arriving late, who did or didn’t take out the previous day’s trash, whether or not the moon is made of cheese, and snowflakes are really the world’s collective dandruff blowing in the wind (Ok, not those last two. I got carried away, sorry).

At last former Mrs. Bagley, youngest son, and I would be rescued from this morning ritual when, at 7:00 a.m., the two boys’ ride to school arrived.

Middle son would announce the appearance of their ride and, neatly dressed, hair washed and combed, backpack filled with all he’d need for the day, he’d rush out the front door and crawl into the car. Eldest son was, as I’m sure you’ve gathered by now, a different story.

He’d be just exiting the bathroom as younger brother was announcing the arrival of their ride. As middle son was going out the door, eldest son would be scurrying about the house, gathering his clothes from all corners of the abode and hastily throwing them on himself.

And as he walked out the door in a pair of semi-clean blue jeans, a partially buttoned and wrinkled shirt, shoes and socks in one hand, a cup of hot chocolate in the other, and a hat over his wet, matted hair, I couldn’t help but wonder out loud to the boys' mom, “are we raising the odd couple?”

She just smiled and told me someday we’d look back on these times and laugh.

“Yeah,” I agreed, “but probably from within a room at a sanitarium.”