When you know where the story’s going, and you know what you need to accomplish, you tend to approach the structure of the novel with the sensibility of a car mechanic. You want to get into the engine and tinker. There’s a satisfaction in just making the damn thing run.
—Allen Morris Jones, author of Last Year’s River
I’m no mechanic. I don’t like getting my hands dirty. Something about grease under my fingernails bothers me to no end. I won’t even change the oil on my van, preferring instead the $19.95 Jiffy Lube special. My dad’s just the opposite, a retired toolmaker, he doesn’t mind looking under the hood of a vehicle or crawling below it with a wrench. When I announced that I was quitting engineering school, he was quick to ask, “What’re you going to do? I’m not going to let you live here and work some piddly job. You better have a plan.”
The only real plan I had was to “find myself,” to move on to the next challenge in life and to discover my place in the world. Shortly after dumping my college major, he lined up a factory job for me as a sweeper. I quickly declined the offer. “All these years I’ve worked there, paying the bills and putting food on our table," he said, "and now it’s not good enough for you!”
The real irony about my not working in a factory is that I think I would’ve become acclimated to the environment quite easily. It’s not hard for me to imagine myself going to the Paper Clip Lounge every day, having a liquid lunch, and kibitzing with a bunch of assembly line workers. Hell, I’d probably fight for the overtime too. What terrified me the most about my dad’s offer was that I might become too complacent. I never set foot in his manufacturing plant, even though he had worked there for most of his forty years of employment—sixteen years of it on the midnight shift.
I remember eating cold cereal in the morning while he poured himself a beer and tomato juice and told my brother and I to “have a good day at school.” On the weekends we’d go to our family cottage and ride minibikes up and down the street and through the woods while he tinkered away on a spare minibike in the garage. Today’s photo shows the very same Suzuki 50 I rode some thirty year ago. It’s in mint condition. My parent’s store it in their walk out basement. Click here to see me as a child, zooming down the road, my destination unknown. I’m still trying to find my niche in life.
15 comments:
That's like my dad and my brother. My dad was a draftsman and then a designer for GE. He got my brother a job there in the shipping department -- which my brother hated! And he ended up quiting or getting fired or somethin. That also reminds me of my old boss - she got her daughter a job in the career long place of employment but the daughter zinged out on a pee test. ...we're not meant to work where our folks worked maybe probably
Jim, Either the minibike got smaller or you got bigger? I remember the days. --Bro, Ron
Hey Jim,
Love the picture! The story is a sad one -- very hard to accept someof the realities of our parent's lives and work is truly one of the bleakest things ever. I'm with you about still trying to find myself.
Great story and Im still trying to find myself too... any suggestions? ~M
I guess we're all trying to find ourselves right now. If you ever find a map, let me know.
Minibikes are great. My brother saved ours and we ride it at his place at Sylvan Lake. No brakes!
Reminds me of when I put a jack hammer thru a compressor line at a Bendix factory where my dad was a supervisor. Shut down the plant.
Luckily, I only worked there for one summer. I have to agree with Bobby. Nice post. MW
That's an interesting story. My father worked for GM as a tool n dye worker. I remember him emphasizing to us, his children, that above all else we were never to work in a factory.
Different generations, different expectations.
Tell me, JR, if you could do it over again, is there a different path you would have chosen?
Yeah, I'm 39 years-old and I'm still trying to find myself too.
You look cute in the helmet.
What would you do if you were able to start all over again????
I know nothing about cars. Cute picture. It is hard finding yourself. Some people never do.
I don't necessarily have any regrets as to where I am now in life. I know I'm an underachiever, that I could've chosen a different career path, but at least my decisions are my own and not influenced by someone else. It would've been nice to be a writer full time. I was a journalism student in college for a hot minute but decided there was more to writing than the four W's & H. Man was I wrong; look at Mitch Albom! I've always thought he should stick to sports writing. Ok, enough already.
You're right about Mitch Albom. I remember when he first started doing his radio sports talk show, before WDFN and WXYT. He was great. Now, he's kind of like Oprah with chest hair.
Good story!
I was thinking about my dad's life-long career with Michigan Bell eariler this week. It's funny, the older I get the more amazed I am at the role fathers played in the Detroit suburbs in the 60s.
Post a Comment