The house was festive. It had balloons tied to the front steps, a grill smoking up into the sky, children laughing and screeching in the yard, and people stuffing their faces with food that had been slaved over the last few days.
“Welcome to my home, I’m so glad you could make it, let me take your hat for you!” The host cordially greets a guest, and ushers them to the food line, and whisks away their hat.
This is a typical Labor Day barbeque, no?
Somewhere else, someone is slaving over a factory line, sweat drips down their creased brow, and they squint at the small piece of plastic, eyeing it for any faults.
“Move it along, we got a deadline to meet!” The foreman yells loudly, and everyone startles a bit and presses on with their work quickly, sweating and aching, glancing frequently, and hopefully at the clock by the exit.
This is the typical day for a laborer, yes?
If everyone worked hard, like their lives depended upon it, and everyone was as gracious as a host is to their guests, and everyone put forth just a bit more effort, wouldn’t that change the world in such a dramatic way?
“I earned every penny I have saved for my college tuition with these two hands, hard work and perseverance really pays off!”
“She is so kind, everything out of her mouth is gracious, caring and considerate, shouldn’t we all strive to be like her?”
“He is such an admirable man, worked for 50 years at that company and pulled it up by the bootstraps and got it through a crunch time!”
Aren’t those the things you would want to hear about your children, or about yourself come your retirement? Admiration and respect, dignity and justice.
Motivation is a key here, so go out there and earn the things you have, the things you want and the things you could only dream of before!
I close the book softly. The words of someone I don’t even know has struck the chord inside of my spirit that makes me want to put in that 110% of myself into every goal I undertake.
I will be everything and more that I wanted for myself when I was a child.
I sit back on the porch, resting my feet on the railing.
“Another hot dog, please?” I call to my husband.
“Coming right up, ” he calls, pulling one off the grill flames with a metal tongs.
And I realize as I bite into the meat, and feel the salty charred black skin hit my throat, that I already have more than I could have ever dreamed about in my youth.