Puppies, Pie, Paving and my Pop

I can honestly say I’ve learned at least one new thing about paving or the world, at every one of the jobs I’ve attended. For example, yesterday, I learned about why dogs shouldn’t necessarily be brought to active construction sites.

My father and Philly, before I had to put him back in the car.

Seeing as I’m fleeing the country on Saturday, I thought I ought to start multi-tasking. Spending time with our family dog, Philly, while taking pictures and observing a driveway job just 5 minutes from home seemed like a good idea at the time. Unfortunately, Philly was about as relaxed by the sweet sounds of machinery as humans tend to be. Not to mention the potential for disaster, what with the 300 degree asphalt on the ground. I took Philly for a walk around the neighborhood instead.

Unamused by the construction site. What a snob.

When I returned, I put Philly in the car for a few minutes and returned to the site, where I observed all the things I’ll never say. See, the best part of being at the jobs is listening to the conversations, insights, and meanderings of all who are present––it’s a unique kind of people watching and after becoming somewhat of a regular, I have a rare appreciation for these characters and all they have to say.

Whether it be Phil and Dave, giving me advice about where to go and what to avoid in Europe, (“Hell’s angels, over in Amsterdam you know!” said one to the other, whatever that means), or Derek and Anthony retelling old stories about employees come and past––I’ve come to know and appreciate it all. Though, as someone in charge and constantly surrounded, I don’t suppose my father feels the same way. I think he occasionally wishes for less character. Less talking all around.

Yesterday was not a good day for him. He told me some, without saying too much. It was sad though because I hate to see my father stressed out. I hate knowing he’ll probably never retire all because I had to go and get some expensive education. I hate seeing how defeated he is when something, or everything, goes wrong. And in the past few weeks, I have seen that. He used to like this stuff. Really, he did you know.

I didn’t go to any jobs today because it was raining, but I sat with my father in the living room after dinner, and he seemed to remain in low spirits. “When will Ashton Kutcher ever just go away?” he asked during a digital camera commercial. “Why isn’t he done yet? … Will he always be around, as long as I’m alive? What if I’m on my death bed, and my last thought is remembering that Ashton Kutcher still exists?? How awful that would be.”

See? A strange and depressing soliloquy. Not out of character, these days.

If I could, I would drive the paver for my dad for awhile. I’d send him on a leisurely walk with Philly, and I’d just take care of the drive way building and whatnot. And while I was at it, I’d convince Ashton Kutcher to retire from the public eye and become a recluse. That ought to smooth everything over for everyone.

For now, I can’t do much of that. “Is this something a watermelon slushy could fix!?” I asked yesterday, when nothing seemed right on the job. Unfortunately, my father said “No.”

What he meant to say though, was “Pie.”

Pie fixes everything. I will buy him one tomorrow, strawberry rubarb, his favorite. That’s the best I can do for now.