One day, a couple years ago, I was standing outside Lydia’s school waiting for her to come out so that we can have our walk Home. An old friend of mine from high school who has a daughter in Lyd’s grade was also there. He looked hurried and tired. He came straight from work and was still wearing his suit and tie. He is a communications director for a large and influential organization. We were talking about careers.

“They can be anything they want when they grow up,” I said, “I think having a theater phase is fine, but I think I will discourage them from taking after me and having a career in theater.” I went on to talk about the odd hours, the fatigue, the injuries and questionable stability of income.

“Honestly,” he replied, staring at his phone, “I want all our kids to get certified as welders before they go out and hit the world. I too, am discouraging them from a job like mine. I mean…one bad tweet and it’s over for me.”

Apparently, he’s an influencer because shortly after we had that conversation, a trend of encouragement to get a trades job began growing; an alternative to the kids who neither want nor need a college education.

I am in full support of this trend. The work tends to be steady; the income and benefits can be impressive. The debts incurred for getting certified in a trade are a fraction of the tuition for a state college. College isn’t for everyone, and there is nothing wrong with not going to college. This trend, to me, represents a ray of hope for those kids, an indication that they too have a chance to move up in the world.

Unfortunately, all trends are likely to swing too far and the first hints of it are beginning to appear on my social media timelines. Here’s an example….

Before I address this, I’d like to talk about my Dad, and my new appreciation for what he did.

My Dad started out like many young men, doing physical labor, he loaded trucks, drove delivery trucks, he worked in factories, and eventually got a job working in the food industry—as a grocer, he was the deli manager of what was regarded as one of the best delis in Northern Illinois. His hardworking attitude and pleasant demeanor was noticed by the right people and he was offered a higher paying job with another company, working in sales. He traded in his name tag for a necktie and suit.

Two or three fashion trends later, and my Dad became the regional sales manager for a major corporation. He was gone for several days in a row each week travelling, meeting clients, working conventions, keeping his own people in line. He spent more time away from Home than at Home. Mom would load us up to go take a trip into the city and we would pick him up from the airport. We would see him getting off the plane and we’d run full speed at him, arms open for a hug. He responded by dropping his bags and picking all three of us up at once. Literally, that was how it happened; it was like a life insurance commercial. Except the smile looked more forced in his case.

I look back and realize all the micro-expressions I missed, the fatigue, the glazed over eyes, the way he collapsed into the passenger seat while Mom drove all of us back Home.

I am now grown up; I work as a stagehand doing physical labor. Meanwhile my wife is starting her own business, and I am helping. It all started out with me loading the van, driving to market, setting up the booth and getting out of there to allow her to sell, sometimes I would hang out at the booth and we would enjoy being in each other’s company.

But I was bothered by her selling tactics. They weren’t bad, but there was room for a little polish and refinement. Then one day a potential customer walked up. Annie was busy doing something. It was an awkward moment. Mute me staring at a customer who was waiting to hear about what we were selling.

I began talking, and talking and talking. Annie stood back wide-eyed watching me charm the heck out of this lady. She left with four jars and she has been a happy and loyal customer ever since. Then Annie watched me do it again, and again. She smiled, “it appears you do have a few of your dad’s sales genes after all!”

So yeah, I guess I am a bit of a chip off the old block. These days I do most of the selling while Annie does all the making.

And it is exhausting.

This gig involves hours on end of being on your feet, acting pleasant and perky when you are grumpy and tired. And I need to look presentable all the time, no one wants to buy jam from a guy with sweaty pit stains. I’ve come Home a broken man. Secretly hoping the Foo Fighters might come back into town, I’ll happily unload their sixteen semi-trailers if it means getting a break from the market circuit. While I have always had an appreciation for what a hardworking man my Dad is, my experiences are becoming more similar to his, and it is becoming a fully realized appreciation. The work is different, but it isn’t any more difficult than wiring a house or replacing the plumbing or unloading trucks for the Foo Fighters.

What I am starting to realize is that no one job truly exclusively holds the market share on exhaustion. Mental exhaustion will break someone just as easily as physical exhaustion, and from a detached observer’s point of view, both types of exhaustion look practically identical.

Now, when I see someone working out of a cushy looking office, I think, “What kind of hell did you have to go through to earn that office? What kinds of stress do you experience day in and day out?” And, thinking about my old friend looking at his phone as he talked to me, “Do you ever actually get to leave that office?”

In the end, this doesn’t need to be an us-versus-them or them-versus-us situation. Most people are in some way a slave to their careers. All we want to do is to pay our bills and provide three squares for ourselves and our families. How it gets done doesn’t really matter. The dollar is really nothing more than a certificate of proof of labor, and everyone’s dollars are the same color.

For weeks I stewed and pondered that meme about “all the hardworking men”. Then I saw this one, the one that prompted this blog post. I found it encouraging:

 

It’s been a while; I think I would like to take Annie on a date with my next paycheck.