Pride: In the name of love

The backstory: I guess it was over a year ago that we were in the outskirts of Atlanta to witness the wedding of our friend Jones and his bride-to-be. At some point of the weekend, Shawn and I ended up in the car of Brittany and Mike, our good friends from college. Mike was telling a story in which he was gently boasting about his skill at something--the specifics of the coversation have escaped me--but after he finished his monologue, his wife--Brittany--punctuated his story by saying, "Mike, you're so proud!"

The car burst out in laughter. Mike took this as a gentle ribbing, which it was, and which illustrates how much Brittany and Mike love each other. I think a typical husband, if called out on the spot by his wife, would be pretty sore about it. Instead, Mike embraced the joke, and said, "Damn right, I'm proud!"

From that day on, if Shawn catches me being boastful, or vice-versa, we always shout out, "You're so proud!"

* * * * *

Since I've been staying with my in-laws here in Flahriduh, I've been trying to find some tasks to do to make it feel as if I am contributing to the household (instead of sleeping in late and eating all the food, which is really the case). Though neither of my in-laws expect any such penance, Craig, my father-in-law, has been happy to oblige by offering up odd jobs for me to take on. A few days ago, I moved some tile from the front driveway to the backyard, where Craig is putting in a new stone deck.

To make room for the new stone deck, Craig suggested that I demolish the old, wood deck out back. So, this morning, I grabbed my crowbar and got to work on the thing. Here is the obligatory "before" picture:

As I was working on the deck, my mind kept returning to my parents. The reason? I was feeling proud. I was proud that I had offered to help around the house, instead of being a freeloader. I was proud that I had the basic skill necesary to properly wield a crowbar, and that I had taken the safety measures to wear protective glasses and put on my sunscreen. I was proud that I was able to deconstruct a very well put together deck, and that I had the moxie to keep at it until the job was done. I was proud that I did the job right. And I knew that I had both of my parents to thank for this pride, for they were the ones who taught me that getting your hands dirty is a part of everyday life.

As I pried up the old deck, I remembered my mother, and how she had given me weekend projects of pulling weeds or laying mulch in her garden. She was and is a New Englander with a Puritan work ethic that can handily defeat even the toughest project.

I also thought of my father, how he has done every odd job in in the world, from setting down asphalt to being a rodeo clown. The summer after I went from being a 4.0 highschool student to a 2.9 college student, he had two jobs lined up for me when I got home: one as a waiter at the local Ruby Tuesday for the lunch shift, and one at the busiest Albertson's grocery store in Florida doing night stock. I had big plans for that summer, drinking beer and hanging out with my girlfriend and my friends. When I protested that two jobs was too much, he told me that if I was going to lose my scholarship (which I did) and fail out of college (which was the path I was on) then I better get a feel for what life would be like working for a living without a college education.

I returned to college in the fall, switched my major from Biology to English, and got my grades back on track. Point taken.

So today, as I pried up the boards of the deck, avoiding rusty nails and various insects, I felt pride in myself, and graditude in my heart for my parents, who had guided me along to this point. As I swung the crowbar to knock loose a tough board, I felt the weight of this responsibility on me. It will be up to me to give chores, to teach my daughter the value of a dollar, and to undo all the spoiling her grandparents will pile upon her.

Soon though, I returned to my pride. I did a hell of job demo-ing this deck, didn't I?