Pop

It is rather fortunate that I am one of a small number of American sons who gets to work with his father. Not that it’s a rare thing, but uncommon enough. The days of growing up on the family farm and gradually growing into a role of running a farm with/for Dad are long gone for the vast majority of Americans thanks to advancements in technology and general hugeness of farm equipment; many kids simply know what their dad does at his job, but not how he does it. They see Dad in the morning and evening perhaps, but don't interact with him through the frustrations and joys, problems and accomplishments of the day's general tasks. But lamenting the fact of time lost with Dad would not make any family unit stronger.

Going along with Pop to work as a kid exposed me in a small way to the business. I wasn't much help except for background noise, and my short skinny 11 year old body couldn't do much more than sort the hardware, put the tracks together, run the drillers in with the impact, then clean up the trash and pack my pouch, impact, and extension cord into my toolbox- a WD cardboard box. At the time I hated it: I had glamorous dreams of being a brain surgeon thanks to a Reader's Digest article that I read and re-read. Working with Pop was more than a few notches beneath my level of dignity and high volume of peach fuzz. My hopes of being a surgeon were dashed when my hands proved unsteady in an 8th grade motor skills test. I did however learn how to wrap an extension cord quicker than anyone's business; it’s a talent I'm quite proud of to this day.

High school and jobs came and went. Frustrated at the lack of doing something I liked, Mom convinced me to go work with Pop. Originally the plan was to work there temporarily until I found something I liked; I soon found that I liked working there. This fall will be 9 years.

I like my job overall; I get to interact closely with dozens of people daily and thousands annually. My favorite person to interact with at work by any measure is Pop. I have to confess that in the early years of working there it wasn't something I saw as special; it was just something that was. I would see Pop in the morning at home, maybe on the dock for a few minutes at the shop, but then not until evening at home again. Now that I spend my days at the shop all day, I get to see Pop most of every day. The more time that we are blessed with together helps me realize how much I love the man, and how much he has taught me seldom with words or even discipline, but with his often quiet example. He has set me straight in some pretty big choices in life just with a half dozen carefully placed words and a look or two. Working by the piece taught me to work, but watching Pop taught me to live.