Root Beer

My first job other
Than daily or
Saturday chores
Was at age seven,
I used a hammer
To pry nails from
Scrap lumber and
Straightened them
On the sidewalk then
Put them in a box
For reuse as needed.
My next job was to scrape
Lead paint off the house
And sand smooth for
My Dad to paint,
My first painting job
Was at age nine
Painting a tin roof,
I nearly slid off.
By the time I was
Sixteen I was painting
Walls and floorboards
In my father’s rent house,
Using non-lead paint.
After four or five hours
We broke for lunch
And shared a loaf of
Fresh white bread
With mustard and bologna,
Sitting on the shaded patio
In the scorching summer
Heat sweat dripping off us
Leaning up against a wall.
Best meal I ever had.
Dad looked over at me
And surprised me saying,
“Let’s go get some root beer.”
We hopped in the car and in
Five minutes were getting
Frosty mugs of root beer
So cold it was almost
Frozen and tasted so good.
We drank them down,
Finished at the worksite
And drove home both smiling.
Later in life when I was done
Getting a PhD and teaching
At night I was a carpenter,
Handyman and archeological
Cartographer all based
In part on that sweaty
Root beer break,
A love of manual
Labor and the
Value of
Working with
Good folks.