| The Symbol of the Cinderblock |
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.
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.
