”Break Your Ass”
For the last three days I’ve been doing OSHA training for about 75 working guys, all total. I’ve known most of them for years, but I always begin the class by talking about my time as a union laborer.
I distinctly recall my first day as a laborer. Dad was driving me to a job I knew nothing about. I’d always been a writer. A guy who read books in every free moment. A guy who was starting college and was going to write great novels and not have to get my hands dirty.
“You’re the boss’ son,” Dad said. “Break your ass every day. Don’t ever let anyone say that you didn’t earn every nickel.”
I recall that first day too. I’d been on a jackhammer. I was covered in dirt, dust and sweat at the end of the day. Every muscle ached.
“How’d it go?” Dad asked.
“It was awesome.”
34 years later...
...still in construction.
Now standing before the guys who ache every day.
And I was aching.
Legs buzzing, back just an absolute mess. Standing in front of the room talking for long stretches is as crippling as that jackhammer had been.
(I did write the novels though!)
Yet, I thought of it all in the context of the tax bill passing and Dad’s birthday.
(God I miss him).
And I know what he would have said about the huge money grab by the one-percenters.
“Lazy bastards will get what’s coming to them. Just keep your head down and keep going. Don’t ever give them a reason to question your effort.”
Well, Dad, I felt downhearted.
It’s not supposed to be this way.
We weren’t supposed to look down our noses at those less fortunate. The guys standing before me, covered in dirt and sweat are supposed to have a shot.
They’re breaking their asses.
It’s not supposed to be taken from them.
And I bring a lot of laughter when I talk about my days in the field. Dad always loved the time when I was rolling a trash tote filled with drywall debris to the end of a ramp leading to the dumpster.
Dad and 8 other suits were walking by.
“Hi Dad!” I yelled out, taking my eyes off where I was.
I ended up following the tote straight into the dumpster...
...right over the top.
“You dumb bastard,” Dad said, when we got in the car that night...
...and then we laughed about it for 30 years.
Well, Dad...your birthday is here...you aren’t.
Wait a minute.
Yeah, you are.
We’re all still breaking our asses.
Hope it’s enough.
I distinctly recall my first day as a laborer. Dad was driving me to a job I knew nothing about. I’d always been a writer. A guy who read books in every free moment. A guy who was starting college and was going to write great novels and not have to get my hands dirty.
“You’re the boss’ son,” Dad said. “Break your ass every day. Don’t ever let anyone say that you didn’t earn every nickel.”
I recall that first day too. I’d been on a jackhammer. I was covered in dirt, dust and sweat at the end of the day. Every muscle ached.
“How’d it go?” Dad asked.
“It was awesome.”
34 years later...
...still in construction.
Now standing before the guys who ache every day.
And I was aching.
Legs buzzing, back just an absolute mess. Standing in front of the room talking for long stretches is as crippling as that jackhammer had been.
(I did write the novels though!)
Yet, I thought of it all in the context of the tax bill passing and Dad’s birthday.
(God I miss him).
And I know what he would have said about the huge money grab by the one-percenters.
“Lazy bastards will get what’s coming to them. Just keep your head down and keep going. Don’t ever give them a reason to question your effort.”
Well, Dad, I felt downhearted.
It’s not supposed to be this way.
We weren’t supposed to look down our noses at those less fortunate. The guys standing before me, covered in dirt and sweat are supposed to have a shot.
They’re breaking their asses.
It’s not supposed to be taken from them.
And I bring a lot of laughter when I talk about my days in the field. Dad always loved the time when I was rolling a trash tote filled with drywall debris to the end of a ramp leading to the dumpster.
Dad and 8 other suits were walking by.
“Hi Dad!” I yelled out, taking my eyes off where I was.
I ended up following the tote straight into the dumpster...
...right over the top.
“You dumb bastard,” Dad said, when we got in the car that night...
...and then we laughed about it for 30 years.
Well, Dad...your birthday is here...you aren’t.
Wait a minute.
Yeah, you are.
We’re all still breaking our asses.
Hope it’s enough.
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