Ahhhh the sound of Air Guns in the morning!
Nah, not a real gun, you know air guns, what you hear in a garage or mechanic shop. Now back to the story.
My dad was always an early riser. He demanded everyone in the house be up by 8 or so and fully dressed. And for the life of me or my sister we never could comprehend why my dad would wake us up early on a non-school day. See my dad was from a different era. My grandfather was a carpenter and well he was always up early. I guess that rubbed off on my dad.
When I was little, by trade, my dad was a Pharmacist Technician, but by hustle he was an Auto Mechanic. By Hustle, well if you don't know what that means, that's a different blog. Hit me later if you don't understand. Back to the subject at hand. The only way to get side jobs done was in the driveway and well sometimes you would wake up to the sound of the compressor and or the sound of an air gun. And I did loathe the sound when I was little, but now well... It's refreshing to hear it. Especially in the morning.
I hear it every morning as I go to McDonalds. There's a tire shop right across the street. And I'm sitting in that drive thru and all I hear are the air machines turning on tire bolts. And I start to smile to myself. Funny how little things can bring about a sense of nostalgia.
That sound symbolizes work to me. Hard Work. And it will always make me smile. I can't help it. My dad raised a car junkie. What else could I turn out to be? Hell I was changing starters at 6 years old. Long story, that's another blog. But how bout my fingers were just the right size.
My dad taught me to never be afraid of working. It was good for the soul and mind.
And I never was. I just want to work for me.
Nah, not a real gun, you know air guns, what you hear in a garage or mechanic shop. Now back to the story.
My dad was always an early riser. He demanded everyone in the house be up by 8 or so and fully dressed. And for the life of me or my sister we never could comprehend why my dad would wake us up early on a non-school day. See my dad was from a different era. My grandfather was a carpenter and well he was always up early. I guess that rubbed off on my dad.
When I was little, by trade, my dad was a Pharmacist Technician, but by hustle he was an Auto Mechanic. By Hustle, well if you don't know what that means, that's a different blog. Hit me later if you don't understand. Back to the subject at hand. The only way to get side jobs done was in the driveway and well sometimes you would wake up to the sound of the compressor and or the sound of an air gun. And I did loathe the sound when I was little, but now well... It's refreshing to hear it. Especially in the morning.
I hear it every morning as I go to McDonalds. There's a tire shop right across the street. And I'm sitting in that drive thru and all I hear are the air machines turning on tire bolts. And I start to smile to myself. Funny how little things can bring about a sense of nostalgia.
That sound symbolizes work to me. Hard Work. And it will always make me smile. I can't help it. My dad raised a car junkie. What else could I turn out to be? Hell I was changing starters at 6 years old. Long story, that's another blog. But how bout my fingers were just the right size.
My dad taught me to never be afraid of working. It was good for the soul and mind.
And I never was. I just want to work for me.
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