The sun squeezed through the gaps in Kemptville’s curtain alcove and radiated onto his face, slowly waking him up. He yawned deeply, giving himself a good stretch, and hauled himself up awake. “Good morning,” he greeted himself, reaching out to touch his bedside clock. As his sight cleared up, he suddenly noticed the time. “Eh…?” he began quietly, then he rubbed his eyes to clear his sight further and make sure he wasn’t dreaming. He blinked several times in succession as he gazed at the clock. It then hit him: the time had gone forward, and his clock was wrong! “Oh, not again!” he wailed, and he began to cry noisily, burying himself beneath the covers and his pillows, shedding tears.
Kentville, Kemptville’s son, came promptly ambling in, scanning around the room briefly and turning to his father’s bed. Kemptville dug himself out from beneath the covers and cried up towards the ceiling. “Oh, Dad…” he groaned jadedly, seeing his father crying again. “What is it this time?” Kemptville sobbed uncontrollably, hearing his son’s voice, and he whipped around, grabbing onto his hands. Kentville looked across to the bedside table, noticing the clock. “Oh, have the clocks changed again?” he asked, turning over to the calendar pinned up to the wall above Kemptville’s bed. He leant forward to get a closer look, checking today’s date. “Daylight Saving Time begins…” he reiterated to himself, and he climbed back onto Kemptville’s bed, comforting him. “Dad, that’s what I got your calendar for – so you wouldn’t forget to change the clocks when the time comes around.” “B-b-but I’m always f-f-forgetting th-th-things…” Kemptville blubbered, pressing his pillow against his eyes to soak up his excess tears. “I-I-I’m so f-f-forgetful…” Kentville came up close to Kemptville, gently stroking his hair. “Dad, I know you’re always forgetting even the biggest things. Like I said, that’s why you have a calendar. And a clock’s no good when the time’s wrong, is it? Here. Let me help.”
“Dear, oh dear, p-p-poor old m-m-me…” Kemptville sobbed, stuttering, while Kentville reached out for the clock and pressed the adjustment button on the back. Being careful not to overstretch the cable, Kentville pressed the upwards arrow, setting the clock an hour forward and thus to the correct time, and he confirmed the change.
Kemptville calmed down on seeing the clock with the corrected time to reflect Daylight Saving. “Oh, woe betide me. I’m always crying over little things, aren’t I?” he smiled, a little tear streaming down his face and soaking a patch of his pillow. “Little things that can easily be fixed.” “Mmm-hmm, yes indeed, Dad,” Kentville agreed, also smiling.
Kemptville sat up in his bed, Kentville supporting his back with his extra pillow. “D’you think sometimes I’m a little too much of a burden on you, Kentville dear?” Kemptville asked. “You’re always caring for me when I have a good cry. Is it getting to you, you think?” Kentville slung his head onto his right shoulder, smiling sweetly. “Oh, no. Not at all, Dad. You are my father, after all. And I’m your son. So you should be caring for me, but I often find in our lives, it’s the other way ’round.” Kemptville’s eyes widened with pleasant surprise, inhaling a little. “Oh, really?” he asked, awed. “Mmm-hmm, indeed it is,” Kentville beamed brightly. “Well then, thanks for being my son who cares so much for me,” Kemptville beamed too. “And thanks for being my lovely father,” Kentville concluded, and they both huddled up together beneath the sheets, laughing heartily and cozying up against each other’s pleasantly warm bodies.