Watch out, you may get clocked

Over the weekend at Mount McKay in Thunder Bay, a realization hit me harder than the beating sun.
Time was not on my side. I can’t control what anyone else does, no matter what the impacts are on me or others.
Every region has a name for it. In Hawaii, it’s island time. The locals do things at their own leisure, tourists be damned. In the warm tropical countries, there’s beach time. Time apparently stands still when you’re laying in the sun on a beach.
There’s also India’s Indian time. Much of India runs on Indian Standard Time (IST), but given the population’s propensity to being late, it is often referred to as Indian stretchable time.
Research has shown me time isn’t as important as the outcome is in many cultures. Since I started working for Wawatay five years ago this week, I’ve become accustomed to what many of my friends call Indian Time. Many of my softball teammates are Aboriginal. When someone shows up 10 minutes after the game is scheduled to start, I get a lot of ‘Sorry, it’s Indian time. You should know I’m not going to get here on time by now’ kind of comments.
I just laugh it off because there is nothing else I can do about it.
Ojibway author and playwright Drew Haden Taylor has his own thoughts on Indian time.
“Indian time is a term used when Native people are late. I’ve heard it used for grand entries, meetings, dinner parties, hockey tournaments and even long overdue births. In theory, it refers to a slower way of interacting in the world. Events happen at their own pace, not necessarily by that thing on your wrist or wall or microwave. Some First Nations people disagree with Indian time. Still, for as long as I can remember, Indian Time has been an Aboriginal license to add 30 minutes or so to getting out of bed.”
So this takes me back to the powwow.
In my hurry to get the weekend powwow on time, after sleeping in and through my alarm, I still arrived about 20 minutes early.
Grand entry for the powwow was to be held at noon. I was there comfortably early. Punctuality is the curse of my father, a man whose credo is: ‘Being five minutes early means you’re never going to be late.’
I walked around, checking out what the vendors had to offer while I waited for the powwow to start.
The emcee did a masterful job of announcing the procedures and what was happening.
He kept the crowd of hundreds abreast of the delays and even powwow protocol.
I learned the centre area, where the dancers display their skills, is blessed prior to the powwow and it’s not appropriate to bring your dog into this sacred area. Thankfully, with the heat, I left my dog at home.
By noon, it was apparent the powwow would not be starting on time according to the schedule.
Sweat was running down my face and saturating the back of my shirt, collecting at the small of my back where it met the bottom of my back pack camera bag. But I decided to wait it out. It was 25 C, but it felt like 35 C with the humidex.
Grand entry was pushed back to 12:30 p.m. then further and further. The last I heard, it was scheduled for around 2:30 p.m.
But with a lovely shade of sunburn setting in on my arms and feeling the heat taking its toll on my body, I had to leave. My head was pounding and screaming for water by 1 p.m.
As I was driving home, I started thinking about the dancers, how they would fare in the heat.
I saw many dancers patiently waiting for the grand entry, just as I was. It makes me wonder what the organizers were waiting for.
Is it fair to the people who showed up on time to push back the entire event because some of the scheduled participants didn’t arrive on time?
I didn’t hear anyone else complaining. Maybe it’s just expected. I don’t think Indian time is going to change any time soon.
I got a new watch for my birthday recently. Maybe I’ll program it to Indian time. If the invitation says noon, I’ll be there promptly for 2 p.m., unless I get a call that there’s been a delay and I should show up later.