LASTING IMPRESSION
The Yellow Bike
My dad, George, had an eighth grade education. A quiet man, he didn’t understand my world of school activities. From age 14, he worked. And his dad, Albert, a stern German Lutheran, took the money my dad earned and used it to pay family expenses.
I didn’t really understand his world either: He was a livestock trucker, and I thought I’d surpass anything he’d accomplished by the time I walked across the stage at high school graduation.
Summers in the mid-’70s were spent at home shooting baskets, hitting a baseball, or throwing a football, preparing for my destiny as a quarterback. In poor weather, I read about sports or practiced my trombone.
The summer before my eighth grade I was one of a group of boys a neighboring farmer hired to work in his field. He explained our basic task, the tractor fired up and we were off, riding down the field looking for weeds to spray with chemicals.
After a short way, the farmer stopped and pointed at a weed we missed. Then we began again. This happened over and over, but we soon learned to identify cockleburs, lamb’s-quarters, foxtails and other grasses, and the king of weeds, the pretty purple thistle. It was tiring work, but I looked forward to the pay, even though I wasn’t sure how much it would amount to.
At home, my dad said, “A job’s a big step to growing up. I’m glad you will be contributing to the household.” My dad’s terse comment made me realize my earnings might not be mine to do with as I wished.
My labors lasted about two weeks, and the farmer said there might be more work, but I wasn’t enthused. I decided it was not fair that I had to contribute my money.
When I brought my paycheck home—it was $119—my dad wanted to talk to me. Taking a seat at the table, he started: “When
I was young I was expected to contribute to my family’s support. I never thought that was fair. While I learned the value of hard work, I resented the idea that I owed my dad something as a kid being asked to do a man’s job. Now, you saw the job through, and that’s something to celebrate. Open a savings account, and if you have something you really want to buy for yourself, you have my permission. But spend it on something you can use and will value.”
It was the longest speech Dad ever gave me. Only later did I realize how cathartic it must have been to do something for me that his dad had never done for him.
It changed my world, too. I had my eye on a yellow 10-speed, 26-inch AMF road bike, and now I knew I could buy it. I had my dad to thank for teaching me that fairness and hard work were always welcome in our house.