would say that I am impatient. I am not; I just don’t want to

lifelong. When I was six, just learning to read, cereal boxes on

our breakfast table were the first things outside of “

"text-decoration: underline">Dick and Jane” that I was able

to decipher. When my mom realized this, she tried to fill my bowl

in the kitchen and keep the boxes from me, but it was too late. I

big, bold, colorful type designed to attract the attention of

6-year-olds, were offers for super-cool spy rings, or telescopes to

be able to see the stars, or a sheriff’s badge, or anything else

you could think of. These toys were worthless and lasted less time

than it took to get them there, but they became my first experience

with waiting that whining, crying and fit-throwing wouldn’t

these priceless treasures was to send in a specified number of

cereal box tops, along with 25 cents for shipping and handling. I

would beg my mother to buy all three boxes at once instead of

buying one box a week for three weeks. I didn’t want to

budget to get me to shut up, I would take my box tops and secure my

quarter to them with tape, then drop my childishly scrawled

envelope into the mailbox … and wait. It seemed reasonable to me

that the toy should arrive in the next day’s mail. I mean, that’s

enough waiting. It is logical to a

authentic Buck Rogers ray gun to read the fine print with the

hateful warning, “Allow 4–6 weeks for delivery.”

"mso-spacerun: yes">  At 6, I had no idea how long four to

six weeks was. Since every day was a lifetime, four to six weeks

forgotten I ordered it, and had moved from spy decoder ring, to

little boats that floated in your cereal bowl and motored around on

their own somehow. I played with it, it broke and the cycle

repeated. The object of my desire changed, but one thing remained

over 50 years, but I still go through the same process. The time

has compressed in this modern era, but the anxiety has increased.

With the “time compression warp factor” applied, the “please allow

3-5 business days” warning is worse than the “please allow 4–6

weeks” of my childhood. I find myself wondering, “Will I still be

Order” key where they somehow have money, and I do not, I am

looking for the delivery truck to pull into the driveway. It seems

logical to me that it should. I want it now, why can’t I have it

the “overnight” delivery, but that only compounds the problem.

Overnight may increase the probability that I will be alive when it

arrives, but it does nothing to alleviate the anxiety of waiting.

Shouldn’t it be there the next morning when the sun rises? I do

waiting for a table, waiting on hold, waiting for the seasons to

change, or for anything else for that matter. I was a miserable

expectant father. I wanted to play with him or her

things come to he who waits, but in my 6-year-old heart, I want it

now. Maybe someday I’ll reconcile the two, but until I do, I’m

asking, “What time does the mail