The Working Man

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So, Matt came home on Monday afternoon, muttering under his breath.

"I have friggin' blisters," he said.

"That's because you've never worked before," I answered. "How was it?"

"Tedious," he replied.

Welcome to the world.

Then on Tuesday morning there was this lovely exchange as I watched my beautiful wife make his lunch at 6 a.m.

"Why are you making his lunch?" I asked. "Let him make his own. Better yet, why in all these years have you not made me even a single sandwich?"

My wife rolled her eyes.

"Okay, me and him on a boat...only one life-preserver, who's going over?"

"You know the answer," she said. "But hear me out, there are reasons. First, he's younger. Secondly, you have life insurance."

Nice!

Then I heard that Matt's friend is sort of making fun of the men who work at the place, questioning the drive and ambition of the men who show up each day to feed their families.

So, cut to this morning.

"You haven't quit yet?" I asked.

"This might be my last week," Matt said.

"I hear you guys are putting down the rest of the workers."

"Not me!" Matt said. "I just find all of it rather time consuming."

I laughed. Poor boy has a long way to go.

"Keep an open mind," I said. "Those old dogs can teach you something about life."

Matt sort of grunted.

I know that he is not enjoying the experience. In fact, given his rather busy social life, and new found discovery of beer, he would much rather not be working.

Join the club.

Yet there is something to be said for an honest day's work for a fair wage. It's what this country was built on.

He's out there. His mother would gladly kick me off the lifeboat for him.

Just wish I could get a sandwich made for me now and again.

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