|
When my father was alive, he left me with a recurring memory. I often remember shaking hands with him, and when I was younger I recall how his hands would engulf mine and how huge he seemed. As I grew bigger and older and we continued to shake hands; I no longer thought about how huge his hands were, because by this time mine were pretty big too, but instead I began to notice, or perhaps realize, how course and rough his hands were. My father's hands were always white and chalky from the dust of the cinder blocks he carried at work. I often thought that shaking hands with Joe Rhym was like falling off your bike in an asphalt parking lot. It was hard to tell which hurt more, the weight of your body upon your wrists or the scraping of your hands on the asphalt.
Those asphalt handshakes are clear and motivating images because although it was not as clear to me then as I wish it had been, it is crystal clear to me now that my father carried blocks so that I might carry books. My father wasn't perfect, but the level of sacrifice and selflessness that he demonstrated over all those years and in all those blocks has motivated me to help others as he so selflessness sought to help me.
So let us all make sacrifices, no matter how small and carry some blocks for those who might benefit from our sacrifice and labor. |
|
