Kehoe Rodgers: The dark side of Daylight Saving Time

So, it’s time to spring forward — push that clock ahead an hour and gain more sunlight.

Woo-hoo.

Please, when reading the above phrase, make sure to attach a sarcastic edge to it  because I do not celebrate this spring forward stuff.

I know, I know — it’s an unpopular opinion I have. I’m aware it’s unpopular because people have been telling me since I was a kid how wrong I am to resent that extra hour of sunlight.

I suppose there was a time in my life when I appreciated the longer days. Maybe when I was a sportswriter and covering softball games during the summer? Adult softball — men’s, women’s, fastpitch, modified pitch, unlimited arc and Church leagues — so my nights were spent at various softball fields in the area — Wierman, Chiccino, JFK — a great way to spend the summer. But I soon learned that the longer the sun was up, the less chance there was that I’d have to fight off gnats and mosquitoes. Otherwise, I’d douse myself with Avon’s Skin So Soft to ward off those pesky predators.

But for the most part, once that clock moves ahead, I’m counting down to when it falls back. And it has nothing to do with losing an hour of sleep. That was only a problem when my kids were little and the time change created chaos where there was once nightly routine and order. Once they got to the age when they put themselves to bed, that hour less of sleep for one night was just a blip on my radar.

I think my issue with Daylight Saving Time — the official term when clocks are advanced an hour is deeply rooted in my childhood — and the fact that I grew up in a house devoid of air conditioners.

Of course, when I was a kid (way back when) air conditioning was a luxury. No one I knew had air conditioning. But that didn’t make things easier — more difficult maybe, since there was no place to find refuge other than malls and movie theaters.

So, from the end of May to September, sweat dripped off of me. But the worst, the absolute worst, was the nighttime.

My sister and I shared the front bedroom, which featured three front windows and a side window. We moved in there after my dad died because it was bigger than the middle room — so my mom switched with us. I very much wanted my twin bed next to the side window — for the breeze I could enjoy, for star gazing and to watch the birds in the tree next to our house. But my teenage sister, as a wise and selfless 16-year-old (again, please add a sarcastic tone), convinced me that she should take that bed. That way, if a fugitive from the FBI’s 10 Most Wanted list climbed up the tree, it would be Beth he took as a hostage and not me. Seriously, this was her argument — keep in mind the television show “The FBI” was must-see-TV for the Kehoe boys, and me by default since we only had one TV. Beth then doubled-down and reminded me that lightning is attracted to tall trees, and it would be horrible if a bolt hit our tree, thereby electrocuting anyone sleeping in the bed by the window.

Soooo, Beth got the bed by the window.

For some reason my mom had an industrial-sized window fan. This thing was a monster of force, and fit perfectly in our front window. So, the deal was to turn the fan on exhaust (blowing out), close the side bedroom window and the other doors upstairs, and turn the fan on high. The fan sucked up and out all the hot air in the house, and a created a slight breeze throughout.

Except in my room. My room got all the hot air.

At night Beth and I were free to open the side window and close our door, which created a wind tunnel with pretty impressive force. I was literally able to dry my thick mane of hair just by sitting on Beth’s bed.

While this, on paper, would seem like a cool situation, it wasn’t. The air was still warm. So, the best way to counter that was to sleep without covers or sheets, right?

For the person who is not Beth’s little sister that would be correct. For me? Not such an easy answer.

My sister thought it was incredibly fun and amusing to, after the lights were out and I was trying to sweat myself to sleep, to say, in the most creepy-scary voice imaginable, “I’m under the bed and I’m going to get you.” Or “I’m in the closet and I’m going to get you.” The location of the unseen homicidal maniac varied, but the intent was consistent. So was the impact it had on me.

Because, to this day, as an adult of mature years, I have to sleep with at least a sheet over me no matter how uncomfortable it is (you know, to conceal myself from that homicidal maniac lurking in my room), and my closet door must be closed.

For the record, Beth is considered by all who know her as the nicest, sweetest, friendliest, kindest and most selfless person in the history of humanity. And that’s all true — now — my sister Mary Beth is the best sister, and best friend, anyone could ask for.

Not so much when she was a teenager.

Anyway, I’m aware of the good that comes from that extra hour of sunlight and I understand why people think I’m misguided. I accept that. It’s good for the farmers, the energy bill, blah, blah, blah… But to me, there’s nothing more relaxing than putting on soft, oversized sweatpants and a sweatshirt (with a turtleneck — my favorite article of clothing — under said sweatshirt) and sitting in a room lit only by the glare of the TV. Yes, I lead a very exciting life (again, add that sarcasm).

But, truth be told, that’s how I re-energize myself. I’m a proud introvert — I find great comfort and ease in my alone time. Even as a kid I would hope for rain every so often so I had a good reason not to leave the house. There’s a lot of pressure for a kid to “go out and play” when all that kid really wanted to do was sit home, not engage and watch old movies or reruns of the “Dick Van Dyke Show” and “I Love Lucy.”

And that’s what it comes down to mostly — my introverted self would prefer to shun those extra hours of sunlight. Fortunately, it’s a little easier as an adult to handle the downside of those longer summer days. Thank God air conditioning is now longer a luxury, but a somewhat affordable necessity. There’s no pressure to “go outside and play” because 1) my friends accept and acknowledge my “introvertedness,” and 2) they don’t ride bikes. They play golf, which is ideally played in the morning, so I’m good to go with that.

Best of all — my sister and I no longer share a bedroom — so I can retreat to my room at night, turn on the air conditioner, shut the closet doors tight and feel confident that there’s no one hiding under my bed coming to get me.

Email Cheryl Kehoe Rodgers at crodgers@timesherald.com