Anticipation...

School begins in one week (actually it starts Monday for teachers). As with everything, I often wonder how my father would look at me and what I do. The beginning of the school year is like the start of the baseball season; all the teams are in first place. It's a time to enjoy rather than regret the fact that the summer vacation is over. My father rarely took any vacation time. His toil was day in and day out, non-stop. His credo was that hard work is the only thing that pays off. His job as a warehouse worker was demanding physically and mentally. At his age, he should have been doing a lighter job, but he never once complained. I complain quite a bit and for the most part my complains are unwarranted. What do I have to complain about, really? I teach fiction and poetry to high school teenage girls, grade papers, do research, calculate grades... honestly, what do I have to complain about. Yet my complains persist each year. I have to remember more and more how my father did his share without voicing a complain. He was not deeply religious, but he was somewhat religious. I wonder if that was his trick... to put everything in the hands of the Lord and do His will without stopping to ask why. There's something about putting trust in the Lord. Many times, I saw my father's resignation at those things he could not change in his life. There are hundred of things I cannot change about my job, a job I truly love. Perhaps that is what makes it worthwhile. Providing for his family was my father's greatest duty. He loved to provide for us, to give us all the things he didn't enjoy as a young man. There is something deeply religious about that, no matter which angle one takes to it. My father's sacrifice was entirely my gain.