Construction has begun on the empty lots behind my work. It was cool watching all the machines strategically move the earth around. I found myself, for a moment, caught up in the excitement of it all, wishing that I'd made different choices in life. Choices that would've placed me behind the controls of these behemoth machines, instead of pondering from afar.
Watching the boom swing back and forth, I thought back to when I was a small child. I grew up on a farm, not far from the city. In the winter time, it was up to my father to clear out the snow from the yard to allow the easy entrance and exit of our vehicles. My dad did not have a snow blower, relying on an aluminum scoop shovel, instead. Either it seemed like we had lots and lots of snow, because I was a small child, or this particular year in my memory, we were relentlessly bombarded with snow. So my dad could be heard clearing away the snow with his shovel. "Clunk! Clunk! Scoop!" would echo off the building encompassing the yard. "Clunk! Clunk! Scoop!" And we had a sizable yard, too. Not a small driveway, but a grand-sized yard and a long lane-way that connected it to the highway. A front-end bucket for his tractor would have been a worthwhile investment, but instead.... "Clunk! Clunk! Scoop!"
So one day, my sister and I were in the city with my mom, who came across these children's snow shovels. They were red or blue or both, with a picture of a snowman in a winter scene. "Would you like a snow shovel?" my mother asked us kids. As I recall, our faces lit up and both were thrilled at the prospect of obtaining our own shovels. Then we could go help dad clear the snow from the yard. Up to then, it looked like a lot of fun. "Clunk! Clunk! Scoop!"
No sooner did we arrive at home, than did my sister and I go running out to begin our crusade of helping our father clear the snow that continually blew into the yard. "Clunk! Clunk! Scoop!" continued to echo off the buildings, as my sister and I rounded the corner of the house, shovels in hand. My dad was happy to see his smiling children, with shovels in hand and promises of help. He pointed out a spot where we could begin our assistance. "Clip! Clip! Swish!" we began, moving small increments of snow. "Clip! Clip! Swish!" Our efforts were small in comparison to the gargantuan amounts of snow our dad was able to move, and our shovels barely made a sound as they cut into the snow, unlike the thunderous clunks our dad's shovel made.
Soon, I realized that my dad didn't do this task on a nearly daily basis, because it was fun, but did it out of necessity. This wasn't a game for him, but work. As quick as I thought it was a wonderful idea to get the shovel to help my dad, I was wanting to desert my dad. My sister, if I recall, being much younger than myself, had no qualms about dropping her shovel and returning to the warmth of the house. I tried to hold on longer, but soon claimed to be cold and was encouraged by my dad to return to the house to warm up.
It's funny the shit you remember from the most insignificant and innocent of moments throughout your day...
So as I stood there, in the back of the shop, watching the earth moving equipment push the darkened soil about, I wished I could be the guy behind the controls of the machine, but almost as quickly, realized that it's probably a lot more actual work than it is fun to maneuver the equipment. As I've learned in the last few days..; Work isn't supposed to be fun... Go figure!
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