A few days ago, I went back to my hometown in the countryside. As we were sitting at the dinner table, a distant relative, Grandpa, said to me, "President Xi Jinping’s ‘Chinese Dream’ really hits home. I feel like I’m living in a dream now. Things I never dared to imagine as a child have all come true. Isn’t this a dream? Look at that old clock in your house. Back then, it was the envy of the whole village. Now, no one even wants to wear a watch. Having a mobile phone is like having everything."
Our family’s polaris clock was originally a wall clock. My father was worried it might fall and break, so he made a wooden box with a base for it. Three sides were wood, and the front was glass, turning the wall clock into a table clock. The clock was a gift from my father’s time in the military. Back then, in our big village in the countryside, no one else had a table clock. Most villagers had never seen a wall or table clock, so they didn’t know what they looked like. My parents worked in the county seat, and our home in the countryside often had visitors. Some of them, who had never seen a table clock before, were curious about it and how it was when they went back to the village. This drew a lot of relatives and friends to our house, just to catch a glimpse of the clock, as if it were a treasure. Especially the children who came with their parents would look at the clock ticking away, making a ting-ting sound to mark the hours, with amazed and envious eyes. Back then, not only did the villagers treat the clock as a treasure, but my father also cherished it at home, afraid the children might break it. He set a rule: only he could wind the clock, and if he wasn’t home, my mother would do it. The children were not allowed to touch it. In my father’s eyes, the clock was a symbol of the family’s status. He would polish it from time to time, making the glass shine brightly. Sometimes, my mother would complain, saying, "You treat it like a big deal, always fiddling with it. Can it be eaten or drunk? Our family has lived without it for generations without missing a beat."
My mother had a point. In her view, you can’t live without food, water, sleep, or clothing, but a clock is optional. You can live without it, and people in the past managed their time quite well without clocks. I remember that in the countryside, people had accumulated many ways to keep track of time. In a 24-hour day, they could accurately tell the time. During the day, they followed the sun for their three meals: when the sun was slightly southward, it was time for breakfast; at noon, it was lunchtime; and when the sun set, it was dinner. At night, they divided the time into the first and second halves of the night, observing the stars and listening to the roosters crow. I still remember that during the busy farming season, the team leader would call the workers to start work based on the rooster’s crowing. When the rooster crowed four times, the leader would call out the work signal in the alley. In winter, when the village was engaged in the "Learn from Dazhai in Agriculture" campaign, the entire village’s labor force would mobilize together. The village was too big for the team leaders to call out in the alleys, so they assigned a bugler with a bell to signal the start and end of work.
In the village school, with five or six classes scattered around, there were no clocks in the classrooms, only a small alarm clock in the school principal’s office. To coordinate the start and end of classes, they set up a tall pole outside the principal’s office door and hung a steel bell on it. The bell’s sound signaled the start and end of classes or breaks for the teachers in each classroom.
At home, although my mother sometimes complained about my father’s attachment to the clock, I loved it. I grew up with the ticking of that clock. As a child, I loved sleeping and was always drowsy. Sometimes, I couldn’t keep my eyes open while helping my mother grind grain or it. I would often trip over in the grinding alley and get scolded by my mother. She often called me a "sleeping insect." I was so sleepy that sometimes I would fall asleep before finishing my meal. My father knew about my "weakness" for sleep, so from the first day of school, he set up a detailed schedule for me, listing the times for rest, waking up, eating, leaving home, and arriving at school. He used the clock to control my daily routine, which made me worry-free, not fearing being late or missing anything. While I was at ease, my father was the one who himself out. Throughout my time in elementary and junior high school, the ticking of the clock at home reminded and accompanied me, and I never missed a day of school. Behind the ticking clock was my father’s love, who never forgot to keep track of my schedule, even though he had a lot on his plate. A neighbor’s son knew we had a clock at home and always reminded me to call him when I left for school. Out of habit, I once forgot to call him, and he ended up being half an hour late and got scolded by the teacher. When my friend got in trouble, I felt guilty too, because I forgot to call him, which made him late.
In my teenage years, clocks or wall clocks were still scarce and valuable. Not only were there not many households with clocks in the village, but even in the city, not everyone had one. I remember that clocks or wall clocks were still a trendy item for young people getting married. When a daughter got married, her family would buy a clock as part of the dowry, and the groom’s family would also give a clock as a gift. Sometimes, colleagues would pool money to buy a clock as a gift for a colleague getting married and write their names on it. My mother told me that in our village, a distant relative’s family had a dispute over a clock. The story was that the son of this relative had an arranged marriage, and it was agreed that the family would buy a clock as part of the dowry. When it was time to get married, the family couldn’t afford another clock, so they told the mediator that they had a young pig that was growing well. They wanted to sell the pig to buy a clock, but they thought it wouldn’t be worth much in the spring. After some discussion, they decided not to sell it yet because it wasn’t a good deal. They planned to sell the pig after the harvest and buy a nicer clock then. But the future daughter-in-law was stubborn and said she wouldn’t enter the house without a clock. The wedding date had been set, so the relative reluctantly sold the pig, even though it was a loss, and bought the clock to ensure the wedding could proceed as planned.
After I started working, I still often thought of the clock at home and my father’s attachment to it. My mother told me that the clock had broken down several times and each time it stopped, my father would wrap it in a cloth and take it to a repair shop. She also said that although the clock was old, my father still cared for it as before. Now that no one else pays attention to it, he still treats it like a treasure. After working for many years and saving some money, I finally had the means to speak up. One time, when I went home, I saw my elderly father wearing glasses, carefully polishing the clock. I said to him, "That clock of ours is ancient. I’ll buy a new polaris clock and replace it. A new clock would make our home look more stylish and avoid embarrassment when visitors come. Besides, the clock was originally a wall clock, and you turned it into a table clock. It’s outdated now." My father stopped polishing the clock, turned his head, and glared at me, his face pale with anger. "You have a little money and you’re getting ahead of yourself. What’s so stylish about it? Our clock isn’t there for show. As long as I think it looks good, that’s enough. Don’t worry about replacing it. I won’t agree to it." You see, I have a stubborn personality, but my father’s is even more so.
Many years have passed, and my father has been gone for over five years now, but the clock is still there. To my siblings and me, it’s no longer just a clock. It’s like a shadow of my father. When we see the clock, it’s as if we see him. In our hearts, the clock is no longer just a timekeeper. Its ticking sounds like my father’s voice, calling us to wake up, get dressed, eat, and go to school. The ticking is like the sound of footsteps urging us to move forward quickly. I’ve walked through my childhood, adolescence, youth, and middle age with the ticking of the clock. Even though I’ve stumbled and fallen, the clock has never stopped; even though I’ve encountered obstacles, the clock has never changed; even though I’ve stepped on thorns, the ticking has continued to sound in my ears, motivating me to keep moving forward.
These days, we live in a rapidly changing era where the concept of time as money, time as life, and time as the height of life has been recognized by people. The way we tell time is no longer with a clock, nor do we signal time with whistles or bells. The way we keep track of time is no longer by rolling up our sleeves, and the way we use time has merged with space and time. The clock at home has become a memory and a longing for our generation. Whenever we see it, we remember those bygone days and the father who loved us so much.
