Help Wanted

It’s been quite a few days since I have had the chance to update – so I thought it was due. Here's a couple of pics for the reading impaired like me.

Although Mom and I are looking more and more like extras from the night of the living dead, Samuel seems to be taking all of this in stride. Today he should be moving to a crib, and if all things continue to go well, we may be able to go home within a week.

H has asked me to secure her some black military fatigues (bdu’s), a couple of flash bang grenades and a balaclava “In case they don’t send us home.” I have no idea what she’s planning to do, but she’s got this crazy momma look in her eye. I was going to tell her I broke her favorite coffee mug yesterday, but I think I’ll let that little piece of info slide for a few days.

Samuel seems to have learned how to eat, sleep, and poop all at the same time. Isn’t it amazing to see your kids accomplish something you’ve dreamed of for years? I think it actually brought a tear to my eye.

My last point is a sad revelation in my life, and what I consider poignant reminder of how technology, although wonderful in its aspects of improving life, has limited the career paths of our children.

Growing up, almost every kid finds the perfect job for themselves. They usually grow out of this and end up becoming the night manager for Piggly Wiggly, or something like that, but for the most part, we all want to “be something” when we grow up. For boys, those first jobs (that aren’t influenced by our Aunt Martha saying, “Don’t you want to be a doctor when you grow up?”) are directly related to a vehicle. They want to be a policeman, or fireman, or even a mailman. These are vehicles that we see on a regular basis, they look kind of cool, and as far as the emergency services are concerned, make some cool sounds and are only seen “in pursuit” of an emergency. If we actually got to follow the fire truck to the scene of the accident and saw Mr. and Mrs. Robertson’s house burning to the ground and the hysterical pandemonium that accompanies those sort of life changing events, maybe we would change our mind about those professions.

My childhood revolved around the fascination of a different profession. It also involved a “cool” truck that I got to see pretty often. I wanted to be a garbage man. Hey, what’s not to like? You get to hang on the back of a truck … while it’s moving! That’s cool. And every now and then, you hit this button, and it smashes all of the garbage. Awesome. I know some of you are saying, this answers a lot of questions, but think about it. To a kid, the garbage man gets to hang onto a moving vehicle, jump off before it even stops, and then gets to smash things. I couldn’t believe they actually paid someone to do this. I would have done it all for free!

Well, no longer. The garbage truck in my neighborhood is equipped with an automatic arm that just reaches out, grabs the can, and dumps it in the truck. Although the equipment is still kind of cool, the job has eliminated the elements of danger and destruction from the field and reduced its essence to that of merely an operator rather than the integral part of adventurer it once was. It’s no longer something to aspire to, but rather, just another job.

I’m wondering how I’m going to relay this loss to a son that will grow up never knowing the wonders of this profession. How do you explain the intricacies of a job that cool without the benefit of a visual respresentation? Like any parent striving to live their dreams vicariously through their children, I will set myself up for ultimate disappointment. Now that the world has changed so dramatically around us, how will I ever be able to look my son in the eye and say, “Don’t you want to be a Garbage Man when you grow up?”

Thank you for the prayers.