Word for today: Labor Labor day weekend, the bookend of the summer months from Memorial day until today when we are a little lighter, a little brighter and tend to take time off to spend with family and friends for vacations. It used to be the official end of wearing white clothes until the next summer LOL. It’s funny to me how certain holidays take on odd notes as they progress through time. In Maine where I grew up Labor day is the last day of the business year for many vendors who make their living within three to 4 months at the beach. If you venture into Bar Harbor tomorrow you’ll begin to see boutiques shutter their doors until next year, off to pursue warmer climates or bigger wallets until the sea roses bloom again in the late spring. It is also the last day in New England before school starts again. Everyone tries to get in their last hurrahs before hitting the books and finding themselves spending weekends and evenings in the library. I think it’s great that in this country we have a day where we celebrate those who labor. I liked the old traditions of my youth when holidays were not marketing opportunities, they were days when everyone took a breather from the everyday routines of hard work. Last week we saw fast food workers go on strike in an effort to highlight the sub par wages they earn. Good for them for speaking out on their own behalf, I think fast food is far too cheap and readily available anyway. Those workers are not treated with the level of respect they deserve- it’s honest hard work. To say or believe anything less is to diminish the working opportunity it represents. On this labor day I hope they find progress on this issue. Everyone should be making a wage that elevates them above a poverty level. I am however going to say that fast food is not the worst job in the universe of jobs. It does deserve a decent wage. But so do people working in sweat shops in Chinatown. Migrant workers have some of the most grueling conditions to work under in open fields under the burning sun. These are people to whom we owe a financial debt in our economy, but who for too long have been marginalized by immigrant status. We are a country that can manage these issues in positive proactive ways that insures domestic tranquility while simultaneously allows for a path toward citizenship. My own family came here in the early 1600’s. That fact does not make me a native American, it just means I’ve got deeper immigrant roots. I love the USA. How could I keep something so beneficial to myself at bay for others? I’m just not that selfish. There’s room here, we need hard working people to help keep our economy stable and growing. If you don’t believe me, read the economic data, not the TV talking points. When Nick and I vacationed in Serbia a few years after our marriage, one morning his mom asked us to take lunch over to a man who was doing some work at what they called “The summer house”. Basically it was a small cottage in the middle of fields of fruit trees and vegetable gardens. “What a lovely day trip!” I thought to myself. We packed the car and drove over a few villages, pulled into the fenced off area and got out of the car. The man who met us was tanned from years of work in the sun, haggard from years of kneeling in dirt and hard manual labor. When he smiled at us he had about three teeth remaining in his mouth. But his lathered face was overjoyed to see us because we’d brought food and water. It was all I could do not to burst into tears because I thought then- and still believe today- that no one should have to work that hard for anything. I kept my composure and we shared a meal with him in the shade of fruit trees on the porch. I smiled at him whenever he looked at me, but inside I was as sober as I’d ever been in my life. I asked Nick how much his family paid this man for a days work. Nick said “7.00 and a meal”. “For the whole day?” I said? The answer was a nod of the head. This man who was at least in his 50’s but looked like he was 75 was making 7.00 for the hardest work imaginable. When we said goodbye to him I walked over and gave him 25.00 US dollars, all I had on my person at that moment. His eyes lit up. I thanked him in Serbian for his hard work. He smiled and bowed. It was a gracious moment for both of us. This labor day, as you picnic and relax, hold in your hearts the people around the world who never get a labor day, but for whom any job is better than no job at all. And the next time you go tot he drive through, be sure to say thank you and look into the eyes of the people who work hard every day to being you a burger on a bun.
Posted on: Mon, 02 Sep 2013 14:21:10 +0000
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