February 12, 2024

The Snow Job                     

I’d always call my Dad before a snowstorm and remind him to park his car at the top of the driveway. This way he only had to dig out the few feet of snow between street and driveway. One storm, he forgot.  Of course, THAT storm was a 10 incher and it was with some trepidation I loaded my trunk with 2 shovels and gloves and water, got my son next to me and drove off to “the job”. I took my obligations to “raise a good child” seriously and saw the learning opportunity the impending shoveling event would present.

The roads were clear and we took the 22 minute ride to Park Ridge easily. I parked before the driveway and we both got out and surveyed the job. It was about 100 feet of gravel driveway and WaAAyY down there at the end was my Dad’s Ford covered in snow. I said, “that’s the big job, let’s do a little job, first”. And we both shoveled the 25 feet to the front door. My Dad was waiting, and we sat in the kitchen and talked snow for a while. He smoked, I might have (I forget if I was or wasn’t at the time).

Eventually, we left and presenting ourselves at the head of the driveway, I said to my son, “Times like this, or I should say JOBS like this are best approached by NOT looking at the destination, but looking at the snow in front of you and moving THAT snow out of the way, got it?” We cleared a spot at the top of the driveway about a car’s length. Then we shoveled foot wide “tire track” paths down to Dad’s car (only expending energy as necessary). We cleared off the car and I drove it up to the top area and we were done. The car reeked of cigarettes and stale smoke and had a huge burn hole in the driver’s seat. No, I didn’t say a thing.

That was the only time I ever asked my son for help shoveling. I always considered it my job. Maybe it was residual memories of being sent off to work at the Supermarket with a wagon that caused me to never force my son to do anything work related. I took some heat for it. Especially during summers when the notion of “summer job” would come up. My approach was always: “he has the rest of his life to work, let him play as long as he can”. I am pleased to say, my son works well and plays equally well and I am therefore vindicated (he says clicking his pen and looking oddly crazed).