The Value of Manual Labor

My heart overflows with noble words.  To the king I must speak the song I have made; my tongue as nimble as the pen of a scribe.  Psalm 45:2

This blog is my humble attempt to put my musings in print with the goal of glorifying the gifts my Heavenly Father has given me and honoring the earthly father who loved and raised me.  I plan to include all sorts of tasty tidbits that I encounter and share memories from my life in hope's that it piques someone's interest.

As it is Labor Day, I thought I'd share an expanded version of my Facebook post:

We no longer value "manual laborers".

My father, Robert, was a self-taught agricultural chemist.  This job evolved from many years as a migrant worker, walking the rows or on the back of a tractor.  He could look at a field and tell you what herbicide or pesticide a particular crop needed to ensure the best yield.  All his life he worked long hours, 6 days a week and though he smelled funny when he got home at the end of the day, it was honest work.  Something he was never ashamed of.

My brother, Rosendo, drove truck for a living.  His last job was with Waste Management for over 10 years.  He drove that garbage truck before they were automated so he was lifting cans into the back of the truck all day long.  He too worked long hours and smelled funny at the end of the day, but as far as I know, rarely complained.

Both of these men understood what a real work ethic meant and both could feel proud of their efforts.  My father and my brother are gone now but their work ethic is carried on.  I am proud of what my father and brother did for a living.  It was hard work that left their hands calloused, their endurance strong.  They never shirked working up a sweat or getting dirty to get something done.  They just did it.

Few people want to spend their days in the sun sweating anymore.  The preference is to keep your hands clean, your hair combed, your clothes spotless.  But skilled labor is just as valuable as that of attorney, doctor, analyst and scientist.  Without those men and women who labor sun up to sun down, the cows would not be milked, the crops would not be harvested, the garbage would not be picked up and the homes would not be built.

I consider myself blessed to be first generation out of the field.  To hold an AA and a Theology credential.  My father worked hard at his job so I could stay clean at mine.  I work hard to honor his efforts and to set the example for my own children.  And I remember a time in the not so distant past, when my dad would come home after a long, hard day at work, shake the dirt off his clothes and take off his boots.  He would grab a beer out of the fridge on his way to the shower, asking what was for dinner, I'm sure he was starving but he wouldn't dream of coming to the table still wearing the day's dirt.  What I wouldn't give to smell that funny chemical smell again as he walked in the door.  What I wouldn't give to say thank you just one more time.