Raising a Worker

I loved playing football. Hitting other men that are obstacles in my way. There is only one thing in my sites. Sacking that quarterback. Just thinking about it makes the hair on my arms stand on its ends. I can think about those moment before the count. All of us heavy breathing, anticipating the snap, before all hell let’s lose. God, I loved it. It’s too bad I didn’t get to play very much. I sometimes wonder what would have or could have been.

Growing up was a little different for me than it was the other kids. My father owned his own business, and in his eyes, I was better off being put to work. I can recall he made me start working for him down at his painting business when I was just twelve years old. My summer would be spent be spent around the premises picking up garbage or rearranging paints in the outside. Whether it was 100 degree or 10. I was outside working in the weather with my OSHA approved coveralls that were hand me downs. With dried paint all over them. You couldn’t bend at the knees. They were great. If I wasn’t picking up garbage, or rearranging paints, he would make me clean out his truck. I was the grunt, and It was boring. This is quite honestly not type of summers any boy should be experiencing growing up unless you just hate your kid.

I would come home tired covered in dirt, and my friends would tell me how great their days were. Whether it was at the pool, or hanging out at one their houses playing video games. Either way, my summers sucked. Luckily, I didn’t have to go all the time, and on occasion got to slip away to my cousin’s house for weekends. Those were weekends of freedom. My aunt knew how bad it was for me at home, and my cousin and were only one year apart. Him being the older. We had a lot of fun. My aunt made sure that our weekends were spent just being a kid.

I had always wanted to play football growing up. I played at school during recess, and the other kids that were in little league told me I should play. I would beg to play, but my parents would tell me it was too expensive. I remember one time we were at the store and a little league coach approached my mom and asked if I was playing. She had said no, and he asked if I wanted to. She told him I had, but it was too pricey. He told her if she changed her mind to let him know. He would want me on his team. He told her. He’s built for it! I never got to play. But I played damn well at recess.

When I hit High School, I knew I wanted to play football. It didn’t cost as much as it did if you played in little league. So, it meant I had a chance to do it. I loved it. Thing was, I had to work in the summers for my father. It was mandatory. So, in the morning I would wake up and go to practice for three hours running in the hot sun. Then, I would come home, change, and go work at my dad’s, and work in the hot sun until sundown.

As you can imagine, this wore me out. I need to get rid of one of the two, and if anything was going, it was football according to my father. I started to miss practices. I would sneak over to my friend’s house and hang out for 3 hours. I loved it. I was finally able to hang out and play some games with my friends. I would come home, change, and then go work at my fathers until the sun went down.

This worked for about a week. The following Monday when I didn’t show up to practice again, the coaches called my father. I remember I was out taping off some steel I-beams to be painted, when he came to ask me how my practice was. I told him it was rough, but got through it. He of course knew I was lying, and told me my coaches called. He said they liked me, wanted me on the team, but hadn’t shown in the last week. They had said that normally they would just cut the kid, but they liked how well I played. They didn’t know why I stopped coming. They actually wanted me first string, and wondered where I went.

Imagine that, a kid who’s only football experience was recess in elementary school and nothing else, being asked to come back. I would think any father would be proud, but mine was only pissed that I had been lying to him. I told him it was exhausting me. I couldn’t go run in the hot sun for 3 hours, and then go directly to work for him too. Not to mention the rest of the team got to go home and cool down. Often, they would go hang out at the local pool after. This was time for me to build a better relationship with my team, and I was missing it by exhausting myself going to work after.

This had no impact on him. He told me I needed to make a decision. I would either need to wake up with him for work at Six A.M. each morning, or I could keep playing, but would need to go to work after. I, of course, chose football. It was hard, but I made it work. I never missed practice again either.

During the summer practice usually about the last week you hit what’s called two-a-days. What this mean is you would go to the normal morning practice, and then would come home for a couple of hours and go back for another session of practice. This killed the entire team including me. It the best week my of summer. Because it was the one week I didn’t have to go to my father’s work after practice.

I remember being so beat coming home. I lived about 3 miles away from the school, so I rode my bike. My parents weren’t about to give me a ride. I remember couldn’t make it up this hill. I was carrying my pads, helmet, and water jug while riding a bike, all the while thoroughly exhausted. It was hilarious. Any normal kid would have normally just gotten off the bike and walked. However, my parents were very diligent on being home within a certain amount of time of when practice ended. If I was not home within that time, I would get in trouble, and most likely grounded. So, it was important I got home quickly. I remember wrecking my bike on the road because I had passed out. Thank god for pads. I laid there for a moment and got my bearings. Swigged some water, and got back on the bike. I made it home, but I was late. I would not be able to hang out with friends that weekend as part of my punishment.

Eventually I turned sixteen, and the first thing I did was look for a job outside of working for my father. His concern was that I work. If it wasn’t for him, it had to be for someone. So, I got a job at the local burger joint. It was the best damn job ever. I loved it. I wasn’t working for old men who told dirty jokes all day and hung porn in their lockers. To some this may sound great, believe me it gets old quick, and it’s just dirty. Not to mention I was most likely smarter than half of them, because they spend most of their time huffing paint. Ill be honest my father didn’t hire the most intelligent people, and I don’t think half of them should have been legally working in the first place.

Needless to say, I was happy to be working with people around my same age. People I saw at school. I was hanging out with friends. Work friends sure, but still friends. From then on during the school year, and football year, life was good.

My Junior year, I wanted to play football again, but a girl I really like had changed schools. I had the chance to go to the same school too. I lived on the border, and could change if I wanted to. I felt like I had a shot with her. We had gone out off and on, and it felt like if I didn’t try, then I would always wonder what if? My school was not happy that I was leaving and told me if I did, that I had to agree I wouldn’t play football for them for the first year. You see, many of the students were going to this new school, because it was new for one thing. As well as it was in a nicer area with better funding. So, our school was doing anything they could to salvage some students. Especially if they were in any of the sports programs.

This didn’t hold me back. I wanted to go. Plus, I didn’t like the way it felt like I was being threatened about it. I ended up going and didn’t get to play football that year. If you’re curious. I didn’t work out with her either. I did however set the deadlift record for that school before I left. Leave your mark, right?

I came back to my original High School my senior year. I was doing good. I had a job now at a call center making double the money I made at the burger joint. I had my own car, and was paying for my own gas and insurance. My father made it very clear that if I were to own a vehicle these were expenditures I would be in charge of covering, and if I didn’t have insurance at any time, the vehicle would be gone. Whether I had bought it or not. This made sense, but it would have been nice for him to at least offer me to be on his insurance at a lower rate. Not my father. He made me go call an agent, setup the appointment, and pay the full new driver amount. My father was an asshole. He always was, and always will be. I played by his rules though, and I was doing it my way. No manual labor for this guy anymore. I was working with my brain. I was working a swing shift. So that after school, I would come home, and then head to work.

For my senior year, I wanted to come back strong. So, I signed up for football and practice began. I didn’t have to work for my father. So, I would go to practice, and then come home, spend some time with friends, and go to work. It even worked out for my week of two-a-days it was amazing.

I had done all the hard work, and the season and school year were about to begin. That’s when it hit me. I wouldn’t be able to make practice after school. I worked a shift that had me working Saturday through Wednesday. Which meant I would be able to play game nights, but I wouldn’t be able to make practice after school.

I talked to my work and let them know about my dilemma. I asked if for just the season, I would be able to come in late by 1 hour Monday through Wednesday. They wouldn’t allow it. I talked to my coach, and let him know what was going on. He told me he could keep me on the team, but he wouldn’t be able to play me. He said he couldn’t see him playing someone that wasn’t making it to practice. I agreed. It wouldn’t be fair. It was clear this wasn’t going to work.

My coach asked me why I was working? He told me to stop for now so I could play. That I can always get a job after. Which he was right. The problem was I had bought my own car, paid for my own insurance and gas. I knew that if I didn’t have a job, all that would go away. He asked if my parents would help out, and I told him about my father and his ways. He told me my parents needed to let me be a kid. This was not the first time I had heard this from a coach.

I did talk to my father about the situation, and got the response I expected. That it was fine if I wanted to play, but that meant the car stays parked. Because I wouldn’t be able to afford insurance or gas. It was like I was giving up my freedom.

I had to quit football. I didn’t even get to play the first game. I had practiced all summer, worked my ass off. Got first string, and couldn’t play.

I had always wondered what my life would have been like had I gotten to play. Many of my former co-players had gotten football scholarships either the local university, or at bordering states.

Man, I loved playing though.

My sister was born several years later in my life. My parents made sure she never got a job, they paid for her first car, paid for her insurance and gas.

They also paid for her drama classes, singing classes, dancing classes, and ensured she never missed an opportunity for any of them. This included competitions in other counties, and even states.

She never worked a day in her life for him at his miserable place of work. She didn’t get her first job until after college. Unless you count babysitting.