Dad Needs Me Today.
"Time to get up. C'mon now, I need your help today?"
"Oh, Dad!" I think. "I don't want to go to work today. I hope Mom has some work for me today. Mom's chores will not be nearly as hard."
It is Summer and I get to sleep in. Yep! Sleep in Dad's truck as we snake our way through the city on our way to his job site. I am a seventeen years-old and my father is a sub contractor. Born in the 1920's, raised in The Depression, and very used to traditional gender roles, but Dad could be an advocate for women's rights because he doesn't much worry that I am a girl. I get to help him work...hard. He works hard every day except Sunday. I guess it's that farming runs deep in his veins. He loves to be outside and it doesn't seem to matter whether it is sweltering hot or freezing cold, Dad works outside. Dad works outside. He seems to think it is good for my character development for me to experience nature in all its variety while wielding whatever hand tool the job requires.
I consider my father a great man who doesn't have all the trappings of financial success but he and my mother have their most beloved treasures-each other and all us children. So, since our family is large, growing, and hungry, he takes us to work when he can get away with it. I guess he needs us. We are captive and able to learn whatever he needs us to do with which ever hand tool he deems necessary. I have at my disposal shovel, hammer, level, plumbline, transit, pick, and crowbar...just to name a few.
So what is it Dad has me doing today? We are digging footings for a new house. Other contractors use power equipment but not my dad - we make do with shovels, picks, and crowbars. I am not the fastest with a shovel but for a skinny teenage girl, I do ok. Dad says you have to really step on the shovel and fill it up in every scoop. As a child of the depression, he lets nothing go to waste. When the shovel doesn't seem to be working well enough, Dad fetches his file from the truck and sharpens the point of the shovel so it really bites into the soil. Who knew you could sharpen a shovel? But it really works!
Digging footings by hand is not what I call a great summer day's activity but strangely, when the day is done and I am showered clean and looking at my sunkissed reflection, I am happy. I am learning new skills, growing stronger, and I feel satisfied that I am not a typical lazy kid who idles away the season. How many girls get that kind of experience? Ok, how many girls want that kind of experience? I get to feast on a home grown, home made lunch while relaxing in the shade with my father. It doesn't matter though that it is a different life than most of the kids at school. Most kids are hungry for personal experiences with their fathers and mothers. Me, I get to drink deeply from the well of parents' care. And of course, I get to go to bed tonight and sleep well hoping that Dad will NOT need me tomorrow.
"Oh, Dad!" I think. "I don't want to go to work today. I hope Mom has some work for me today. Mom's chores will not be nearly as hard."
It is Summer and I get to sleep in. Yep! Sleep in Dad's truck as we snake our way through the city on our way to his job site. I am a seventeen years-old and my father is a sub contractor. Born in the 1920's, raised in The Depression, and very used to traditional gender roles, but Dad could be an advocate for women's rights because he doesn't much worry that I am a girl. I get to help him work...hard. He works hard every day except Sunday. I guess it's that farming runs deep in his veins. He loves to be outside and it doesn't seem to matter whether it is sweltering hot or freezing cold, Dad works outside. Dad works outside. He seems to think it is good for my character development for me to experience nature in all its variety while wielding whatever hand tool the job requires.
I consider my father a great man who doesn't have all the trappings of financial success but he and my mother have their most beloved treasures-each other and all us children. So, since our family is large, growing, and hungry, he takes us to work when he can get away with it. I guess he needs us. We are captive and able to learn whatever he needs us to do with which ever hand tool he deems necessary. I have at my disposal shovel, hammer, level, plumbline, transit, pick, and crowbar...just to name a few.
So what is it Dad has me doing today? We are digging footings for a new house. Other contractors use power equipment but not my dad - we make do with shovels, picks, and crowbars. I am not the fastest with a shovel but for a skinny teenage girl, I do ok. Dad says you have to really step on the shovel and fill it up in every scoop. As a child of the depression, he lets nothing go to waste. When the shovel doesn't seem to be working well enough, Dad fetches his file from the truck and sharpens the point of the shovel so it really bites into the soil. Who knew you could sharpen a shovel? But it really works!
Digging footings by hand is not what I call a great summer day's activity but strangely, when the day is done and I am showered clean and looking at my sunkissed reflection, I am happy. I am learning new skills, growing stronger, and I feel satisfied that I am not a typical lazy kid who idles away the season. How many girls get that kind of experience? Ok, how many girls want that kind of experience? I get to feast on a home grown, home made lunch while relaxing in the shade with my father. It doesn't matter though that it is a different life than most of the kids at school. Most kids are hungry for personal experiences with their fathers and mothers. Me, I get to drink deeply from the well of parents' care. And of course, I get to go to bed tonight and sleep well hoping that Dad will NOT need me tomorrow.
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