A History of Work

When you are raised in an Irish-Catholic home with nine other brothers and sisters, you learn early on that you have a role in the family. Our roles required each of us to carry whatever load we could carry at whatever age we were. This meant chores.

Chores are what made us a part of the family—on top of being blood relations. When we took part in the wellbeing of the home, it made home and family even more a part of who we were.

My mom knew how to run a large home. It was she who decided when we were old enough to take more and more responsibility for the home and family.

My chores grew with me; from getting my clothes out and ready to wear the next day, to personal grooming and hygiene, to making my bed and keeping my room cleaned. As I got older, my chores took on a scope beyond self-care; cleaning the basement, the garage, making oatmeal and toast each morning for the family, taking my turn at the evening dishes, and helping Dad with the yardwork. I grumbled sometimes. I didn’t realize it then, but Mom and Dad were training me to take my role in the world of work.

I remember watching my dad rush his breakfast every morning and head out the door in his three-piece suit. I wondered often as a child what my dad did from morning to night every day? It seemed a mystery to me for years.But  I knew exactly what my mom did from dawn until late in the evening, and why she napped every Sunday afternoon.

My first job outside the home was cleaning the exterior of the industrial bakery my Dad managed. At thirteen years old, I spent weekends cutting back brambles and bushes from the backside of the manufacturing plant.

When I was fourteen, I moved to tasks inside the plant: sweeping the garage floor, spreading oil absorbent underneath the bread trucks and sweeping it up; dumping and resetting rat traps.

At Fifteen I loaded bread trucks. At sixteen I loaded hot bread ovens with loafs of dough in iron pans. At sixteen I operated the bread wrapper. At seventeen I ran a weekend bread route. One day I was asked to pull a large trailer around the block, and in the process, I side swiped about six cars. Dad was not too happy with me that day.

At seventeen we moved to Reno, where I worked in an industrial bakery doing the same type of work I had done in Fort Dodge. I was let go, and worked for Marty’s mufflers, who also let me go after several months, when he figured out all I could do was deliver cars and sweep the floor. But I did a good job at that. Dad would always tell me when I was growing up “If all you do is sweep the streets, be the best damn street sweeper in town”. I know what he was saying about the quality of my work. But I had more to learn about what I was called to do.

Like most of us, I did a lot of work I didn’t want to do forever—I sensed I was always on my way to something else, something more suited to me. But I did what was in front of me—what was given to me, even though I hoped it would be very temporary. This I learned from doing my home chores.

I had a number of college jobs I didn’t want to do for long.  I was the receptionist at the Student Health Center, and a cafeteria worker at the men’s residence hall. I didn’t want to cut rubber film from the sides of tanks at 3M in Decatur Alabama during summers in college. But I did. I didn’t want to sell shoes to spoiled kids and finicky women and arrogant jocks at Wagner’s shoe store. But I did. I didn’t want to load 90 lb. blocks of shingles onto a pallet all day long at TAMKO roofing, but I did.

I had a number of “In-Between” and “second jobs”— jobs I took only because I needed to support my young family. I sold Kirby Vacuums door-to-door ( for two weeks). I worked in a butcher shop skinning and carving up hogs and cows between jobs, I painted homes between jobs. I made Krispy Crème donuts at three in the morning every day before I went to my insurance salesman job. I drove all over Tuscaloosa and neighboring counties collecting cash insurance premiums from poor country families. I got shot at as I went from home to home, carrying almost a thousand dollars of collected premiums. The bullet hole went through my license plate.

Sometimes, though, I went after jobs I really wanted. I chased a pastry chef job all the way to Memphis, Tennessee where I learned a skill and also learned what it felt like to labor at something you really enjoyed. Later I worked as the Bakery manager for Albertson’s Grocery. It was one of the last “Made from Scratch” bakeries in grocery stores. Later, my wife and I owned and operated a European style restaurant in Tuscaloosa, AL. called “Liaison”. It was two years of intense but fascinating labor.

From there I worked as a Quality Technician at a roofing shingle plant, was promoted to shift production supervisor, supervising men almost twice my age. Following a workplace accident where I was severely burned, I entered the work-place safety profession and remained in that profession to this day.

I have helped Roofing manufacturing employees in Tuscaloosa, Alabama go home safe. I have helped window manufacturing employees in Tacoma, WA. go home safe. I have helped makers of Genie manlifts in Redmond, WA go home safe. I have helped oil workers in Saudi Arabia go home safe. And, I have helped Bakery mix employees in Kentucky, Oregon, Illinois, Kansas, and Washington State go home safe.

I am coming to the close of my time of working for others and am now looking forward to whatever labor God has for me to do in my later years. But in all of this work, I am grateful to my parents for teaching me the value of work through my home-chores. I am also grateful to learn that I can be grateful for all the varied work I was given. Each job met a pressing need in my life.  But I have tasted the difference between work to survive, and work that is a labor of love and joy.

Frederick Buechner wrote “The place God calls you to is the place where your deep gladness and the world’s deep hunger meet.”  Scratch baking was one of those places for me. The other was workplace safety. But there are other labors of love that are not necessarily paying jobs. I also love to labor at putting words on paper in a way that surprises me sometimes. I love laboring at playing music. I love sharing my journey and experience with others and listening to theirs.

I have learned to listen to my heart in my work, and though, for the sake of my family, I never quit a job without another one ready in its place, I also learned through trial and error to follow my joy— that place where my deep gladness and what the world needs from me meet.

Robert Frost wrote “I’ll play for mortal stakes.” The work you find, or that finds you, may feel intense and “mortal,” but it will also have the spirit of play.

May you find that place for yourself.

Bob