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A Boomer’s Journal
by Tom Anselm
We haven’t always been this well-off. I have my tongue tucked slightly in my cheek when I say this, because by U.S standards, we are anything but well-off. But ya know, we have food to eat and we can pay our bills, and with my pension and both the lovely Jill and I getting our Social Security, we should be better off than the majority of the world. (Wow! Just writing that makes us seem ancient, but that’s a story for another day.)
We have always tried to do what we could to provide for our family. Which brings to mind something comedian Chris Rock said about guys who would brag “I take CARE of MY kids.” “You SUPPOSETA take care of your kids,” says he. It’s probably funnier hearing him say it, but nevertheless, it speaks to the issue.
Back when the our offspring were younger and all still living at home, I thought I would pick up some extra bucks throwing papers for the Suburban Journal.
We had a Chevy Astro van, which was really just a cargo van with windows and removable seats style-wise, so what the heck, let’s give it a shot, I said.
The job involved picking up about a thousand papers, with inserts, putting them in plastic wrappers and delivering them to houses in the area. What I didn’t think about was why this particular route was available to just about anybody, since they let me have it so easily, and just how much labor was involved in this task.
Nevertheless, I cleverly devised a ‘system’ in the garage for wrapping the papers (nailed the plastic sheathes to the wall) and we solicited all the kids and a few of their friends to do the honors. It took forever, but we eventually filled the van from front seats to back doors, stacked roof to floor. We even stuffed a bunch of papers in our Pontiac Sunbird. Then the adventure began. Son Joey rode with me, his brother Tim with mom. It was a family affair, dontcha know. We went out early in the morning, and I’m talkin’ like 2 am.
As we entered into the neighborhoods, it came to full fruition just how stupid this idea was, a thought that was building as we toiled in the garage for what seemed like forever earlier. These were not the high-rent districts we were cruising in the dead of night.
The highlight of this debacle was when, after about two hours into the job, we turned a corner and saw a few County Policemen crouching beside a house, guns drawn.
“Oh, snap,” says I. “Son, I propose we throw this last street and get the H E double hockey sticks outta here.” Or words to that effect. Well, with Jill and Tim behind us, we yelled out the window what was our plan, (this being before cell phones) and Joe wound up to toss his last paper.
I glanced into the right rearview mirror and saw a young “local citizen” running in the street alongside the van. I yelled “watch out” to Joe as he fired that missle out the window, hitting this kid smack in the head. Possibly we assisted in said citizens subsequent arrest, not sure, but at that moment, our paper-throwing days came to an abrupt end as we headed homeward at a significantly increased rate of speed.
Yes, this is just one of the several part-time gigs we have pursued. I was a shoe salesman for a few weeks until my knee gave out about two years ago. It gave me a far greater appreciation for those who toil at retail jobs, especially in commission departments, and especially in shoes. I did some work for the Post-Dispatch covering local city council meetings, some of which got pretty crazy. And for the last four or so years, I have had the chance to be with this paper, in this space. But don’t expect me to deliver this Indy News… that is real work.
Jill has always worked either full or part-time even while carrying on the never-ending duties of Mother. And while some of her jobs have been interesting and fulfilling, there are just as many that have been just short of total drudge.
So hats off to all those who drag their weary selves out each day, and sometimes each evening as well, laboring to put that daily bread on the table and keep the bill collectors happy.
Despite what Chris Rock says, you are to be commended for your selflessness.
