Pride is one of a man’s best and worst attributes. Pride will make a man work as hard as he can and give his best effort. Pride will also blind a man to the fact that there comes a time in life where it is time to move on and “pass the torch.”
This post is a bit more personal. It has to do with someone I admire and look up to…my father.
For those of you who watch the national weather, you’ll know that we had a major snowstorm in the Northeast the weekend before Christmas. Some areas got anywhere from 18 – 24 inches of snow. I live in the area that got the 24 inches.
Anyway, just as I’d dug myself out, I got a call from my mother asking if I could come by. She sounded worried and asked could I come over as soon as possible. I drove over as fast as I could, considering the weather, to find my father digging out the driveway.
I grew up here so I know how bad the snow can get, but this was the most snow we’d gotten in years. The plows had already come through so they pack heaps and snow in front of everyone’s house. And there was dad, bent over and grunting considerably to dig himself out.
This bring me to my story of the Big Shovel. For was long as I can remember, there has always been the Big Shovel, about 4 feet long with a large metal end that looked like it could move mountains with one swipe. When I was younger, it reminded me of a battle-axe with my father being the only black Viking in the neighborhood as he dealt the snow his wrath.
But I’m not so young anymore, and my dad not so mighty. You can only expect so much from the old man. He’s still pretty strong for his age and will probably outlive most of us, but you could tell that Father Time had finally gotten a hold of him. He seemed to struggle with the ice. Instead of the superhero I’d looked up to for so many years…he looked…human…mortal.
I knew why my mom called me now. It was time for me to take the Big Shovel.
It wasn’t like I didn’t try to take it before. All through high school and college, my dad insisted and demanded that he take the big shovel and the brunt of the work. Even after I had a family of my own and stopped by to check on them, dad was still outside shoveling away. He’d always told me that’s what the man of the house does. I was always given the smaller plastic shovel and was tasked with clearing the walkway and the steps. From the car area down to the street was the “man work.”
I thought about how I’d approach him about it. I really did. My dad is a very proud man, who often tells of how he and his brothers had to go and chop trees for the wood stove to heat the house. I remember him attending a football banquet at his old high school where he presented an award to an athlete that broke his all time rushing record, a record that stood for almost 40 years. He was strong as an ox and took pride in taking care of his loved ones.
But this wasn’t the same man. I wasn’t as concerned about his physical well-being as I was his pride. As a man, we always take pride in taking care of our family and home. And he couldn’t do that anymore…at least in this case.
I stepped out of my car and put on my gloves. I approached my dad and gently tapped him on the shoulder. He looked at me as if he knew it was time.
“Hey dad, let me take over for a while.”
He gave me his usual “I got it” and went back to work so I let him shovel a few more times until he was out of breath. Then I tapped him on the shoulder again and smiled. He gave me the shovel and went into the house.
It’s a hard thing, letting go of your pride and stepping aside. Admitting that you’ve taken something as far as you can. The mind is willing but the body is able. But eventually, we all have to do that. My father finally passed the Big Shovel onto me, and one day, I’ll pass it onto my son.
…or maybe I’ll just call him and tell him to take it. That ice seems to get heavier and heavier.
Feel free to comment.
