Wee Small Hours

In the wee small hours of the morning,

When the whole wide world is fast asleep...

Frank Sinatra. Old Blue Eyes. The Chairman of the Board. The Voice. The background music soundtrack of every thinking man's life. From the luckless loner to the lovelorn loser, from the corporate alpha male to the lowly deckhand who rigs the sail, no one is immune from the soothing, soulful music of Sinatra's dulcet vocal chords. Not even I. And so it is at this ungodly time of night that I recall the words of one of Sinatra's many sad songs, "In The Wee Small Hours Of The Morning."

In the wee small hours of the morning,

When the whole wide world is fast asleep...

"When the whole wide world is fast asleep." First, that idea seems impossible. When it is 12 midnight in Bucks County, PA (USA), it is 12 noon in my wife's native land of the Philippines. I'm fairly certain that even if everyone in the U.S. was asleep around 12 a.m. (even those living in Pacific Time Zone whose time would be 8 p.m. or four hours behind the East Coast), then someone in the Philippines would be awake in the middle of their day over there. But let's romantically assume that the "whole wide world" was indeed fast asleep, how would that feel for the man who was not sleeping and contemplating the situation? It would feel eerie, yet strangely peaceful.

In the wee small hours of the morning,

When the whole wide world is fast asleep...

Everyone is fast asleep. Not a sound can disturb them from their slumber. I am awake in the wee small hours. I feel the desolation and isolation of nighttime--of a sorrowful man who wishes to reach out, but knows not a soul stirring. My wife is in bed and thoughts are running through my head, yet I cannot sleep and join the rest of the whole wide world. I should go to bed and rest my head, for the day laughs at the work made by night (or so goes the Greek proverb). My wife is calling me now.

In the wee small hours of the morning,

When the whole wide world is fast asleep...

The lyrics fail me after the first two lines. The words don't apply. They talk about a girl for whom Sinatra sings that must have left him or was let go. But my girl Ellaine has not gone. She is with me still, even after three months of marriage. I should probably be singing a different Sinatra tune, the song "I Love My Wife." But I'm sleepy-eyed and tired. It's been a long day and an even longer work week. And all that I can think of--the words rolling over my mind and keep on repeating:

In the wee small hours of the morning,

When the whole wide world is fast asleep...

And my eyelids feel like anvils, weighing heavily over my eyes. And the warm bed awaits to rest my head upon heavenly pillows. And my winsome wife who already retired for the night, lays there like a lazy cherub, I cannot resist any longer the temptation to join her. I take Sinatra's sagacious words into my heart and keep them there, under lock and key. As I yawn, long before the rooster's morning call at dawn, I make my way to the bed of wedded bliss and with soft lips kiss my wife on the cheek. For I am meek and slumber is now what I seek. Goodnight, sweet world! Gently I die tonight in the wee small hours that fly by so fast and do not last, only to be reborn again when Apollo's chariot crosses the Eastern sky.

You lie awake and think about the girl,

And never, ever think of counting sheep.

~Andrew K.