Tuesday, July 4
Happy birthday, America!
The fireworks began last night--quite impressive for a backyard display. In her five-year-old world, this was an incredible sight. She'd seen fireworks before, mostly huddled against me or her father or under a blanket, but this time, instead of, "It's going to fall on us!" her reaction was "Wow!" This morning, after thinking it all over, she wanted to know more about this celebration. "What is July 4?" she asked. "It's our country's birthday," I answered. She was delighted. Birthdays are second only to Christas as the greatest moments in life. Over sausage and scrambled eggs, we explained to her how our nation was born and about the freedom we treasure--freedom which makes our country great. As she thought this over and ate her sausage balanced upside-down on her fork like a frisbee on a pole, I wondered what life will be like for her in another twenty-something years, when she is my age. How free will we be? How well will we remember our founding principles? Hopefully, the future is bright. For now, she's content to wave her flag at the parade later today, share hotdogs with the neighbors, and see the huge fireworks show--the grandest version of blowing out the candles. Happy birthday, America!
Monday, July 3
Entrepreneurs
It was wedged just inside the storm door. "Matt's Yard Care Service," the flier reads. "I am a 12-year-old entrepreneur." Next to a list of services touted as "all your yard care needs," and the subsequent prices, there's a photo of a sun-bleached blonde kid with a can-do smile and a Donald Trump-esque shaggy hairdo against a backdrop of a neatly manicured lawn. At the bottom of the flier, it says, "Satisfaction guaranteed." Granted, it doesn't say HOW he guarantees it (kind of like the three-degree weather forecast guarantee on one of the local news stations). This kid is a slick contrast to the boy who came knocking last year with a weedeater and a decided look of doubt, as if he knew my answer to his feeble solicitation wasn't going to get him any closer to the Play Station 2 or X Box he'd been eyeing at Wal-Mart. Something about him made me think I'd rather trust the lawn to a goat. But if marketing sells, this Matt kid is going to stomp out the competition like weedkiller.
His flier brought to mind another fellow, quite different, but also seeking to earn a living performing a service most people see as a chore: shoe-shining. He had a stand in the lobby of the office building where I worked, and every day as I'd wait for the elevator, he'd make his way over to stand next to me and comment--just as a friend, of course--how my shoes needed a shine (even when I was wearing sandals with nothing that could possibly be shined except a thin leather strap or perhaps my toenails). He was quite persistent, and some of my coworkers complained about him frequently. Sometimes I'd gently suggest to him that he change his line of work to something befitting 21st century Ashland, Kentucky, where most people who are inclined to sporting shiny shoes tend to do it for themselves, but he was determined that the "old-fashioned" way was the only way, waiting for foot traffic in and around the office tower. He'd never considered anything else, except perhaps preaching, but in many ways, the two were one and the same for him. It seemed his wife had a gift for healing, and he had no doubt that she could cure any ailment, physical or otherwise, and together, they were a mighty pair. Other than the occasional healing, I gathered that she didn't work much, and some days, he made just enough to buy himself a sandwich for lunch. It was a tough gig, but he wasn't going to leave it after 40 years making the occasional local businessfolk look presentable. Mostly, I think he did it so he could talk to people about religion and other matters of human existence.
I wonder what would have happened if he'd made up a flier and posted it around town where shiny shoes are important--police stations, courthouses, banks, maybe tuxedo rental stores. What if he'd staked out the local airport, where sleepy business travelers waited for puddle-jumpers to larger regional airline hubs? He could have posted a picture of himself smiling confidently next to a pair of shoes with a heck of a shine, with "satisfaction guaranteed" underneath. Think of the people he could have touched--first the shoes, then the heart. Even if you didn't believe, there was little doubt that he did, and that goes a long way.
I don't know if he's still around, but I wish him well, just like this young gardener who's got his eye on our lawn. We might call on him sometime, if the drout doesn't turn our lawn into the Sahara, Part II (last year hailed the first episode). And if I'm ever around a certain office tower in Ashland again, I just might get a shoe shine.
Here's to entrepreneurship.
His flier brought to mind another fellow, quite different, but also seeking to earn a living performing a service most people see as a chore: shoe-shining. He had a stand in the lobby of the office building where I worked, and every day as I'd wait for the elevator, he'd make his way over to stand next to me and comment--just as a friend, of course--how my shoes needed a shine (even when I was wearing sandals with nothing that could possibly be shined except a thin leather strap or perhaps my toenails). He was quite persistent, and some of my coworkers complained about him frequently. Sometimes I'd gently suggest to him that he change his line of work to something befitting 21st century Ashland, Kentucky, where most people who are inclined to sporting shiny shoes tend to do it for themselves, but he was determined that the "old-fashioned" way was the only way, waiting for foot traffic in and around the office tower. He'd never considered anything else, except perhaps preaching, but in many ways, the two were one and the same for him. It seemed his wife had a gift for healing, and he had no doubt that she could cure any ailment, physical or otherwise, and together, they were a mighty pair. Other than the occasional healing, I gathered that she didn't work much, and some days, he made just enough to buy himself a sandwich for lunch. It was a tough gig, but he wasn't going to leave it after 40 years making the occasional local businessfolk look presentable. Mostly, I think he did it so he could talk to people about religion and other matters of human existence.
I wonder what would have happened if he'd made up a flier and posted it around town where shiny shoes are important--police stations, courthouses, banks, maybe tuxedo rental stores. What if he'd staked out the local airport, where sleepy business travelers waited for puddle-jumpers to larger regional airline hubs? He could have posted a picture of himself smiling confidently next to a pair of shoes with a heck of a shine, with "satisfaction guaranteed" underneath. Think of the people he could have touched--first the shoes, then the heart. Even if you didn't believe, there was little doubt that he did, and that goes a long way.
I don't know if he's still around, but I wish him well, just like this young gardener who's got his eye on our lawn. We might call on him sometime, if the drout doesn't turn our lawn into the Sahara, Part II (last year hailed the first episode). And if I'm ever around a certain office tower in Ashland again, I just might get a shoe shine.
Here's to entrepreneurship.
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