Hi Ho, Hi Ho

I have always worked. I can remember when I was a little kid, going to work with my dad. Always hearing about how when I was older I would work. It seemed like such a cool concept; you get up early, go to work, and someone gives you money to blow shit up. My dad did demolition then. Later I discovered that only a few people get to blow shit up....but work was a cool thing anyway.

When I was 11, my dad had motorcycles. He had a big cruiser, and an old James Dean style Triumph, and he had a big, mean, knarly, rip the flesh from your ass if you took off too fast motocross bike. I loved this death machine. I would beg Dad to let me ride on the back. It had no foot pegs for a passenger, so I had to hang on for my life with my legs sticking out srtaight in front of me like jousting lances. The only thing in the universe I wanted was a dirtbike. He used to take me to the motorcycle shop and let me sit on all the new dirtbikes, always asking which one I liked best. I knew that in a few months I would be getting a dirtbike for my birthday, and the hills would cower in feer of my boyhood manliness as I tore them to shreds on my scream machine.

On the day of my birth +12 years, I came home from school, knowing the party was about to start. As I entered the yard, I could see my pop sitting on the porch, in the swing, still trying to get rid of unwanted beer by drinking as much as possible before dinner. I think it made mom's cooking a little more edible too. He smiled as I approached knowing what I was expecting. He stood and met me at the steps.

"Walk with me." he said.

As we walked, I was pretty quiet. We were going towards the garage. It took all I had to keep from sprinting all the way there.

"It's your birthday, right? How old are you now? 17?"

"No Dad, I'm only 12"

"Only 12? Twelve's not so bad. I've been thinking about your birthday lately. I think you are almost a man now; and it's time you got a real man's present for a change instead of toys and shit."

Holy shit, I was gonna explode! There were only two things in the world that he told me I was too young for. His dirtbike, and firearms. I knew I was getting one of them today. It didn't matter which one. Mom would hate either. Niether could be clasified in the 'Toys and Shit' catagory.

"It was too big to wrap, so I put it in the garage."

POW! I was moving before he could finish. My feet didn't touch the ground for those last 25 yards.

"Yes! Yes! Yes! I got a dirtbike! I got a dirtbike!" I sounded like one of those old ladies on The Price is Right. So excited that I could only say one thing repeatedly, and not totally concerned with bladder control.

As I hit the garage door I tripped. I fell through the door moving so fast that I slid passed something green under a big red bow, and into a stack of boxes. I didn't even have time to see what the present was before I was passed it. As I was crawling back toward the door, I saw my present, and I saw my dads face.

He was grinning one of the biggest grins I've ever seen. It would be a long time before he would get that much pleasure from seeing my face. He was truly getting near orgasmic satisfaction from giving me this present.

Under the red bow was a gift that I would get a lot of use from. It would be the instrument that fueled many, many teenage wanderings. It was a lawnmower. The oldschool kind, with no motor. It only had spinning, human powered blades. Attached with tape was a list of people that he had contacted and were willing pay me for lawn service. Beside it was a pair of work boots. Steel toes.

I wished I had a gun. I would have shot him right in his big, beer fueled, grining face. BOOM. Dead, right there in the garage, beside that fucking lawnmower. I was pissed.

"I figure by the end of next summer, if you really work hard, you can save enough money to buy that dirtbike you want so bad."

I turned and walked to my room. I don't think I spoke to him for a week or two. Eventually, the old lady next door saw me in the yard and asked when I was coming to mow her yard.

"I'm not going to be mowing it Grace. Call Dad. He'll mow it for you." and I walked away.

Later that day, Dad came to my room and handed me $20. "I forgot to give you this for mowing our lawn last week. Good job. If you wnat some more, Your mom has some flowers to plant."

The next day I mowed Grace's lawn for another $25, and the yard down the road for $35 more. $75 dollars in one week was pretty amazing for a twelve year old.

By sixteen, I owned a riding lawn mower, two power push mowers, weed wackers, edgers, hedge trimmer..... I was like Hugh Hefner. I ALWAYS had a pocket full of cash and a tank full of gas. I owned a car and a motorcycle . With money like that, it's no wonder I was always in trouble.

Even when I was hitchhiking around the country later on, I always found work to do. I guess Dad had a lesson for me to learn. I am not afraid to work. The first word my kids learn to spell is J.O.B. and I always tell them money doesn't matter. What good is it if you are only concerned with making it, and never have time to enjoy it.

The pleasure is in the job....not the check.