There was an incident this week that reminded me of what of the few times I ever saw my father cry. The vivid memory is a striking one for me, because the emotional incident was one of only three or four episodes that I can ever recall him being moved to tears.
You may recall my dad has been described here before as a politically conservative devoted husband and father, who lived through the Depression (born in 1917) before serving proudly in WWII and Korea. He was also a 50-year IBEW construction electrician that I had seen cut off body parts without as much as wincing. True…it was only a tip of a finger, but you might remember the story about him sitting calmly drinking a beer before he drove himself to the hospital (he had put the fingertip in his lunchbox knowing he’d try to have it reattached…but only after the whistle blew). He was simply the quintessential tough guy that almost never cried…and as far as I could tell, there was no part of it that was even close to an act. I suspect after all he witnessed and lived through…there just wasn’t a whole lot that hurt so bad that it would cause him to cry. As his spoiled son who still often curls in the fetal position when the ATM malfunctions, his reluctance to cry was always a trip to me. Looking back, the few times he was ever moved to tears, it had nothing to do with any kind of physical pain, but everything to do with his disappointment in me.
The first time I remember happened when I was about 13 or so. I had been to the grocery store with my mom, and while there the manager asked me if I wanted a job bagging groceries (I was big for my age and looked much older). I don’t recall what the scale was going to be, but whatever it was (seems like it was around two or three dollars an hour), it was huge for the time. I didn’t really understand it, but the store was having some sort of problem, and they needed willing folks to come in and help with duties until the issue was resolved.
That afternoon my father returned home from work, we had our usual two-second interaction but he must have immediately picked up on the fact that I was quite animated. I remember hearing him ask my mother what I was so excited about, and she told him I’d been offered a job making good money up at the local market. I remember my father calmly walking into my room as I dressed to head up to the store. Things seemed pretty normal at first, but they disintegrated pretty quickly.
He then explained to me that everything we owned, every bed we had in the house, every thread of clothing, was paid for by collectively bargained wages. Though he epitomized rugged individualism, he explained with passion his fervent belief that despite his master electrician’s skills, he would NEVER be able to provide the kind of life I callously enjoyed every day had it not been for the enhanced wages and benefits made possible through collective strength. I’m not sure why, but I suspect he was disgusted with my lack of response, and as he tried to explain why I wouldn’t be taking the job, I remember his lip starting to quiver. It was unreal.
I made the mistake of thinking I still had a choice in the matter, and unmoved by his reasoning, I informed him I still intended to take the job. He was firmly planted in the “spare the rod, spoil the child” camp, so I won’t tell you what happened next. Let’s just say the few times he had to go that route, he did it with enthusiasm. Needless to say…I didn’t go to the store, and shortly after he won me to his way of thinking, he further explained the destructive consequence of what I was about to do, and how even considering doing such a thing, violated everything he and “our family” ever stood for.
Not sure why all this matters now, but with folks seemingly appreciating the value of standing together, it just seemed apropos.
Hope you’re all on the threshold of a great three-day weekend (Hmmm…weekend…now that I think about it…that might be another thing that grew out of collective action). If you can, start it off with a genuinely great song. If you don’t like this morning’s tune, you may have an obligation to resign yourself from the song club.
BTW...not even a second proofread today...so I know the errors are horrendous. I do apologize.
Always be a good boy...
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