There's work to be done.

"There's work to be done"

Ever since childhood this has been an important phrase to me. Waking up in the morning on a sunny day and hearing my father shout this at the sleeping bag over my head always brought a restrained eagerness to embark on whatever ridiculous task was planned. One time, this phrase meant going to the builder's supply to pick up 60 dollars worth of cinderblock to "build a wall". At 60 cents a piece, 60 bucks buys alot of block, alot. Even though my dad told my mom that we needed to build a small wall to restrain the descending hill in our back yard, he and I both had an unspoken agreement that this was to buy as many cinderblocks as we could fit in the truck without popping the tires or buckling the suspension. (Near a hundred, in case you're wondering) So there we are two men doing men's work of playing with blocks, big blocks mind you, but blocks all the same. We'ed stand in and out of the truck bed, taking turns pointing at the rear tires and saying "damn, that's heavy". this phrase would always be a queue for Dad to complain about "his back pain" and for me to start doing all the work whgile he sat and complained about going to slow. The drive back home was always slow, afraid the extra speed might pop the tires or shift the loosely stacked blocks. It was also slow so he could look over at me and give that look, the one all good dad's give to their sons when they've had too much secret fun to get away with cleanely. The look says many things, it starts with a beaming pride of the boy for doing the big job and grunting in the process, but it means soimething deeper to the giver, to him, to my dad it transmits a grateful feeling, grateful that he was allowed for a alittle while to be childish and innocent; to simply marvel at something "really big" and tired at something that was "alot of work". Someday when I'm married and tired because stupid thing have got me really tired and debt has made me marvel at how much crap I'm wading through, I'll take my son out and we'll buy bricks till he can't lift another and I'll slap him on the shoulder and give him the look while he sits there hoping that the look also translates into pizza.
I hope, someday anyway, I'll be him.