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Lava Soap

My father, until he retired, was a mechanic. He worked at the same place through two owners and roughly thirty-five years. He was uncompromisingly good. He worked harder and stronger than anyone else there. He made a modest living, which was generally more than any of the other mechanics. He did this simply by working harder.

He never took a lunch break, my mother would hand him a brown paper sack in the morning filled with handheld food items. Horribly unhealthy, but highly functional. In a business where a job pays a flat hour amount (regardless of how much time it may actually take), an extra hour could translate into four hours of pay.

He is a great man. He never has and probably never will fully understand that. It's possible some of the fire in him was due to something else missing. He seemed to always have something to prove. I don't know if he ever knew who he was trying to prove things to and he seemed to never be able to prove it.

As I write this, I realize I inherited so much from my father. I also realize he worked very hard to make me different than him. I have a streak of lazy a mile wide, and he would rather replace a radiator than watch a movie. I think he is happy about this.

He told me he never wanted me to "have to wash my hands, like he did, when he came home from work." He used Lava Soap...harsh stuff.

He gave me a code to live by, the same as his. But he tempered it by pushing me towards something more white collar. Something using my mind and not my hands. He knew I was not, and never would be as physically tough as him.

I strive to be among the best at what I do. I seem to also have something to prove, but unlike my dad, I do know to whom.

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