For 35 years, I’ve applied a life lesson about time management. So when I’m asked the aforementioned question, I answer simply:

To be early is to be on time, to be on time is to be late, and to be late is to be forgotten.

I’m an American-Filipino, or Tisoy for short. The stereotypical joke about Filipinos was (is) that they’ll always be late at least one hour. Since I’m half-Filipino, I was 30-minutes late to most agreed upon times. My Dad’s frustration with this bubbled over one time, so he vowed to break me of this habit. He employed the help of Bill Hecox, Scout Master of Boy Scout Troop 300 in the late 1980’s.

It must’ve worked because to this day I still follow it.

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Follow The White Rabbit

White Rabbit, as he constantly checks his pocket watch and exclaims, “I’m late, I’m late, for a very important date! No time to say hello, goodbye, I’m late! I’m late! I’m late!”

One summer, Boy Scout Troop 300 had agreed to drive to the Olympic Mountains on the Washington (State) peninsula for a hike. The fastest route is to drive onto a passenger-vehicle ferry across the Puget Sound instead of driving around.

Washington State Ferries run on a timetable schedule, which must operate smoothly. Otherwise, the system collapses. Therefore, the meet up time for the troop was a time with enough time to board the ferry.

Well, I was still packing on the morning of the ferry ride and hike. I was late. However, my Dad wasn’t breathing down my neck, yelling at me, or any effort to speed me up. That’s odd, I thought at the time. Dad and I packed up his pickup truck, and off we went to the church parking in the Edmonds area.

As we approached, we noticed that the parking lot wasn’t teeming with young Boy Scouts, cars and adult chaperones. Dad stopped the truck, placed my hiking bag on the ground, and smiled. I cried, “We were too late for the carpool to the ferry terminal. Maybe we can catch them in the waiting lanes.”

My Dad corrected me, “No, son. WE were not late, you alone were late. Good luck.” He turned on his heel, entered the truck, and drove off.

As I watched my father drive off with the single best resource, I sat down on my hiking pack to consider my options: walk home (many miles) or walk to the ferry terminal but I don’t know the address or route only the area (several miles)

After 5 minutes that seemed like an eternity, I resigned myself to walking to the ferry terminal. I sighed, stood up, and strapped on my hiking pack. A few steps across the parking lot, Bill Hecox’s powder blue, station wagon rolled slowly from behind the church. He stopped beside me, “You’re late, Mr. Bayne. Put your pack in the back, and jump in the passenger seat.”

FOR THE NEXT 10 EXCRUCIATING MINUTES, I had a personalized lecture from my scout master about: the level of disrespect to my team, my family, and my friends when I’m late, tardiness is rude, time management is the key to a successful life, and the phrase ad nauseam …

To be early is to be on time, to be on time is to be late, and to be late is to be forgotten.

I repeated it many more times before Bill was satisfied.

Town Meeting About Transition Time

My Dad was a hard worker to provide for his family he created. He worked at 900 Olive Street, in Seattle, WA – the heart of downtown. The commute to, and from, has always been brutal, and dreadfully long – 1 hour each way from Mountlake Terrace; minimum.

One afternoon, as a family, we were about to learn a lesson in transition time. We just didn’t know it, and certainly didn’t know that’s what it’s called.

Dad arrived home, but home was in crisis mode. As soon as his key hit the lock, and a few steps into the entry hallway, my Mom started in on him, “Lovely, something is wrong with the dishwasher.” And like a throng of reporters hounding a celebrity, my sister and I spoke at him simultaneously with our own agendas.

This sent my Dad over the edge.

“ENOUGH!” he exploded. “You three sit on the couch, RIGHT NOW!” We obediently sat down. “SHUT THE FAWK UP. Listen, this is an emergency town meeting.”

He was gearing up. “I’ve had a long, and difficult day at work, made even longer with a shit commute home. Only to have you three monkeys barking at me. Now then. I’m going into my office, I’m gonna shut the door. I’m gonna light a cigarette, and pour myself a bit of whiskey.

“Once I’m damn good and ready, I’ll open the door, one at time, you come in with your issue, ” he declared. “Am I clear?”

Mom, Charrina, and I answered as one, “Crystal.”

“This is from now on, EVERY WORK DAY, ” and he walked to do exactly what he said he would. That’s the day will learned about transition time.

I discovered as I grew older that I NEED transition time. From any activity to another. In fact, EVERYONE needs transition time from task to task. Some shorter than others, but still valid. My casual mode to work mode transition time is about an hour, conversely my transition time from work to fun is about 10 minutes.

I said ALL of that to say this: That’s why I’m early.

I’m following a life lesson, coupled with transition time. You should probably do the same.