Once upon a time, in a quaint little town, there lived a man named Harold who had a peculiar talent for being late. No matter the occasion—birthdays, weddings, or important meetings—Harold always seemed to arrive just after the moment had passed. Friends and family often joked that he was on a different schedule, one that ticked a little slower than everyone else’s. As a child, Harold’s tardiness was endearing. His parents would chuckle as he stumbled into the classroom, breathless and flushed, always missing the morning bell by a few minutes. In his teenage years, he was perpetually late for dates, leaving girls waiting with a mix of exasperation and amusement. “Better late than never,” he would say with a sheepish grin, and somehow, they never held it against him for long.
As an adult, Harold’s reputation only grew. He missed job interviews and deadlines, and his friends learned to adjust their plans around him. “Let’s just tell Harold an hour earlier,” they would whisper, a strategy that often backfired when he still managed to arrive late. Yet, despite the frustration he caused, his charm and good-natured spirit kept him surrounded by loved ones. One day, Harold received news that he had a serious illness. Determined to live life to the fullest, he decided to throw a party to celebrate his life. He meticulously planned every detail, inviting everyone he had ever known. But, true to form, he miscalculated the time it would take to prepare. The party was supposed to start at 4 PM, but he arrived at 5:30, just as the last guests were leaving.
“Harold, we were just about to leave!” they exclaimed, laughing at the irony.
But Harold, ever the optimist, simply shrugged and said,
“Well, at least I made it for the cake!”
And they all stayed a little longer, sharing stories and laughter, grateful for the time they had. Months passed, and Harold’s condition worsened. He was in and out of the hospital, but even there, he was late for his own treatments. The nurses would chuckle, “We’ve got to set an alarm for you, Harold!” He would laugh along, making friends with everyone he met, turning each medical appointment into a lighthearted gathering. Finally, the day came when Harold’s time came to an end. He passed away quietly, leaving behind a legacy of laughter and love. When the day of his funeral arrived, friends and family gathered in the church, reminiscing about their favourite Harold stories. But true to form, Harold was late even for this final event. As the clock ticked on, people began to murmur. Just then, the church doors swung open with a loud creak, and Harold, or rather, his spirit, walked in. He floated in, grinning widely as if he had just walked in from a party.
“Sorry I’m late!” he shouted, and laughter erupted in the sombre room.
At that moment, everyone understood that Harold had never indeed been late. He had always arrived just when he was meant to, filling every moment with joy, love, and laughter. And so, they celebrated his life and the wonderful chaos he brought into theirs, proving that sometimes, being late is the best way to make a grand entrance.
Image by http://www.gillsplace.com
Lazarus Carpenter - Author 