In the blue collar ethos in which I was raised, relatives would regularly complain about my alcoholic grandfather. Some shunned him completely. But all were quick to add "But he never missed a day of work in his life."
That he and my grandmother lived as warring strangers under one roof for all their adult lives was somehow acceptable because he made it to the loading dock every day.
My other grandfather, whom I adored, was a man who substituted physical labor for words. After he retired from decades of maintenance work at a meat-packing plant, he went back to work off-the-books. I can feel the ridges and calluses as if I were holding his hand today, but no matter how hard I try I can not bring back the sound of his voice. His words were never squandered.
I can only imagine their reaction to seeing me walking across the room to my home office spending my days spinning words that may or may not be bought.
G2: No paycheck. Gott in Himmel.
G1: No union. No benefits.I knew there'd be trouble when she went to college
G2: And that divorce
G1: She used to write for newspapers, magazines and companies. She had a retirement plan. She started working full-time when she was in high school. Did it for 20 years. She was a good girl. At least this husband goes to work every day.
G2: Good man
G1: Have to be to put up with her. She gets it from your side.
G2: Probably not





Copyright 2004 Judi Griggs