Sweet Dreams
So, Matt has decided to forego his job at Matt-Donalds so that he can concentrate on the upcoming basketball season. I wasn't completely enamored with this decision as there are a number of things about my own youth that come into play here.
As teens we were encouraged to work hard to put some money away so that we could help pay for our college experiences. In my mind, that's how it should go. Of course, there is another train of thought that says kids should be kids for as long as they can and that their job is school.
So far Matt is doing well in his studies, so I will begrudgingly give him the benefit of the doubt.
Anyway, I went to bed thinking about it last night. In the middle of the night, I was treated to a vivid dream that sort of hammered it home to me. Actually, it wasn't really a dream because it really happened.
Travel back in time to 1983. I was 18. I was going to college during the school year and working as a grunt union laborer during every single break and the summer months. I was being paid as though I had some skills, and I did. I was young and strong and I worked really hard because my father was the boss and I didn't want to do anything that shined a bad light on him. He was doing it for me.
I used to drive to work with Dad to the high-rise job in California. I was part of a ten-man crew that poured concrete at each floor of the hotel - from sun up to sun down. My back aches just thinking about it.
I remember complaining to my father and having him explain that I was working to save money so I can get an education and not have to do it forever.
"But I'm starving by ten o'clock in the morning," I explained.
Cut back to last night's dream. I was pouring concrete with my co-workers when I heard someone call my name. I looked up to see my father standing behind one of the columns. In his hand was a sausage, egg and cheese sandwich on a sub roll.
"Come here!" Dad called.
"I can't!" I answered.
"Get here now (Italian swear words) and eat this!"
That was the dream, and it really wasn't a dream because it really happened. I ate the sandwich in about three bites and hustled back to the crew. The other ten guys gave me the evil eye for the rest of the morning.
Of course, as I went about my business today I replayed the scene in my head time and time again. I saw my father's eyes as he watched me hammer that sandwich home. He was always standing right there ready to help out. He was about the same age then as I am now.
"Stand by your kids decisions," he's saying. "Just help them through."
I love when Dad and Jeff stop by in my dreams.
As teens we were encouraged to work hard to put some money away so that we could help pay for our college experiences. In my mind, that's how it should go. Of course, there is another train of thought that says kids should be kids for as long as they can and that their job is school.
So far Matt is doing well in his studies, so I will begrudgingly give him the benefit of the doubt.
Anyway, I went to bed thinking about it last night. In the middle of the night, I was treated to a vivid dream that sort of hammered it home to me. Actually, it wasn't really a dream because it really happened.
Travel back in time to 1983. I was 18. I was going to college during the school year and working as a grunt union laborer during every single break and the summer months. I was being paid as though I had some skills, and I did. I was young and strong and I worked really hard because my father was the boss and I didn't want to do anything that shined a bad light on him. He was doing it for me.
I used to drive to work with Dad to the high-rise job in California. I was part of a ten-man crew that poured concrete at each floor of the hotel - from sun up to sun down. My back aches just thinking about it.
I remember complaining to my father and having him explain that I was working to save money so I can get an education and not have to do it forever.
"But I'm starving by ten o'clock in the morning," I explained.
Cut back to last night's dream. I was pouring concrete with my co-workers when I heard someone call my name. I looked up to see my father standing behind one of the columns. In his hand was a sausage, egg and cheese sandwich on a sub roll.
"Come here!" Dad called.
"I can't!" I answered.
"Get here now (Italian swear words) and eat this!"
That was the dream, and it really wasn't a dream because it really happened. I ate the sandwich in about three bites and hustled back to the crew. The other ten guys gave me the evil eye for the rest of the morning.
Of course, as I went about my business today I replayed the scene in my head time and time again. I saw my father's eyes as he watched me hammer that sandwich home. He was always standing right there ready to help out. He was about the same age then as I am now.
"Stand by your kids decisions," he's saying. "Just help them through."
I love when Dad and Jeff stop by in my dreams.
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