Live in a Hoover

Dad was right.

My father and I aren't particularly what you might call close. We chat now and again, but for the most part we are fairly similar. We could go months without talking to one another and still pick up a conversation that we had the last time. He has always told me that he is available for commentary and advice on issues going on in my life.

The advice that he has given me over time I have usually followed. For the most part he knows this, or is at least aware that something is different and it doesn't make his ire rise so he doesn't care.

I can remember vividly asking him why our neighbor always took such good care of his yard. By good care, I'm fairly certain that Jack was OCD when it came to his lawn. Dad replied, "You'll understand that taking care of a yard is nice". I probably rolled my eyes, or snorted, or made a lippy reply like, "No it isn't, if you think that you can take care of it".

Recently, I've picked up some lawn care jobs as I have some more free time. Spreading mulch, mowing, edging, pruning, etc. Most of these jobs are in the "rich" district of DM, and I can charge an arm and a leg for my services. Customers provide equipment, I come in on my days off when they are at work do my thing and the customer comes home to a pretty yard.

I still find the work itself tedious. Given the choices of mowing, or fishing I would take fishing 11 times out of 5. But, the extra cash flow is very nice. It is also nice to get out of my house, away from work, and actually work. When I try to work at work people keep talking to me. Nobody talks to a guy who's sweating, has a beard, and is mowing a lawn. I like that.

But in all honesty tedious work is sometimes the best work. When the mower is running everything else is drowned out, I can plan things, I can organize my thoughts, I can have original thoughts. I really like that.

I've always enjoyed fishing with my Dad. Especially when he took me out with him on the boat. Or we would walk to the pond by Opa and Oma. It was just us. There was kind of an unspoken rule that we could talk about anything during fishing time. Looking back mostly what we did was fish, or sit and have piece of mind while not catching anything. Those were the times that I feel that we really bonded. Gone were the sports where he was my teacher and most times my coach. Gone was the aspect of him being the disciplinarian/father. He was just another guy fishing. Sometimes we would swap more than five sentences, but somehow we were bonding.

I can't really explain it other than that.

Now that I've "grown up", or "matured" I still think of all the advice of his, or sayings/cliches that he would impart on the kids and use it/them more than I'll even admit to myself.

Guess that's part of reaching adult, or achieving utter insanity. I'm not positive which one will come first, but I do know that whatever course my life takes I'll have fond memories.

I suppose I'm writing this because of a song I heard on the radio. A song I've heard many times, and every time I start to well up. Conway Twitty - That's My Job.

Buck