Sometimes once
But never always…
“Son, how was work today?”
I was 14 years old. I had just spent 10 hours in a red clay-soil cotton field.
“Hot. Every muscle aches.”
Dad had gotten jobs for me, Billy, Holland, and David (the pastor’s son) working for a farmer out west of Clinton. It paid twice minimum wage. We had to rise at 3:30 am, gobble down a couple of biscuits with a glass of milk, and be at the farm by 4:00 am.
Before we left, we grabbed the sack lunches we had prepared the night before. My sack had a bologna sandwich (with mustard and pickles), a can of Vienna sausages, a single serving of sweet yellow corn, and a thermos of lemon-lime Gatorade with tons of ice.
We were allowed 30 minutes for lunch. 9 ½ hours of hoeing weeds in the cotton patch. We started at 4:00 am because by 1:00 pm the temperature was over 100*.
“Son, were you able to keep up?”
“Dang, Dad, those Mexicans are fast!”
My brothers and David and I were the only Gringos in the field. Everybody else was Mexican. Back in those days, some people called them ‘Wetbacks’. Today, they are either called ‘Illegal aliens’ or ‘migrants’, according to your particular set of beliefs.
I just knew they worked hard. And fast. I went to school with some of them, and they were my friends.
“Son, I’ll ask you again: were you able to keep up?”
Dad didn’t want any of his sons to be soft. Nothing would make him happier than knowing we could work hard and keep up.
“I’m not kidding, Dad. I worked as fast as I could, but even those 40-year-old ladies could weed two rows for every one row I did. I could barely tell the weeds from the cotton stalks. It was embarrassing.”
Dad chuckled.
“Don’t get discouraged, son. After a few days, you’ll be able to tell.”
He was right. By the end of that summer, I was never as fast as my Mexican friends, but I wasn’t far behind.
I am remembering all of this as I go through old pictures from Mom’s apartment.
I close my eyes.
“Son, how was work today?”
I was 17-years-old. I was working at Davis Mud and Chemical. Coach Anderson from Brown had gotten me the job. It paid twice minimum wage, plus time-and-a-half for the first twenty hours of overtime past forty, and double-time for everything past 60.
I was working 70–80 hours a week. At the time, the money was spectacular (at least to me). Of course, everything I made went straight to Brown or the government. (After I paid 10% to my church).
I was the only Gringo at Davis. Everyone else was Mexican. They became my friends.
“Dad, work was hot. Every muscle aches.”
“Were you able to keep up?”
“Yes, Dad. I learned a trick.”
“What’s that?”
“If I focus my mind on one thing, I can ignore my body telling me to slow down. Then, even when I am hot and my muscles burn, I just focus on that one thing.”
“That’s right, son. I am proud of you.”
It is the only time I remember Dad ever saying he was proud of me (at least without me having to ask first).
A guy like me will never forget those words.
Dad was proud of me.
By the end of the summer, I could outwork everybody at Davis. Throwing 100 lb. sacks of barite all day changed my body. My shoulders were broad; my muscles were long and taut; my butt and thighs were like rocks. I could have made a Chevy pickup commercial. Where’s my Levi’s 501s?
Today, I use that trick to keep going. I focus on one thing.
To the right of me are temptations.
To the left of me are seductions.
I keep my gaze lasered ahead, concentrating on one thing.
Above me are my passions; below me are my fears. The passions try to distract me, calling for my attention. The fears slither around — long and shiny, I see their bodies but no heads. I dare not look.
There is an angel that softly flutters behind me. I have glanced her a few times. She is beautiful, with big brown liquid eyes and an inviting smile. She breathes on the back of my neck. She whispers in my ear. She kisses me on the cheek.
I slow my gait, and I wave my hand to shoo her away. I will not let her destroy my life.
But I wave too hard.
And I stumble and fall.
I get up on my hands and knees.
I pause and close my eyes.
Then I lift my head.
I look straight to the horizon and focus on one thing.
I get up, and I force myself to start moving ahead.
“Son, I am proud of you.
“Keep it up.”
Never once
But forever always…
