Manual Labor.

One of the things I developed a respect for while traveling was manual labor. Growing up white upper-middle class capitalist, I was taught by family that I was somehow "above" manual labor as a way to make a living. I remember my stepmother saying telling me: "Of course you're going to college," as if it was my birthright to do intellectual labor and anything else was out of the question. Farming, of course, was also somehow outside my life plan, and my family was very skeptical of its usefulness. I can only imagine their surprise when the oil runs out and we're digging up concrete to grow food.

And imagine my surprise when one Friday in Vermont, I was a roofer - paid seventy-five dollars for the day to shovel shingles, put down tar paper three stories up, and help put a skylight in. I overheard Pat holding the first skylight as I was shoveling old shingles, telling the other guy, "You better hurry up with that, 'cause this is an awkward position." It wasn't 'til I myself was up squatting on the 10-pitch roof (one of the steepest you can do without cleated shoes) stabilizing a 200+ pound skylight on its corner; and I said: "Damn, you were right about this being an awkward position."

Another carpenter, a man who lived up to his motto - "ten fingers, ten toes" - told me as we rode south on the Golden Gate Transit bus from Santa Rosa that the survival rate for falling off a three story roof was ten percent. He told me the story of one roofer who was three stories up on a 12-pitch roof (the steepest you can do without cleated shoes), using a nail gun to put shingles in. He slipped. With one hand in the air, he saved himself from the fall by swinging his other hand up to give himself the stigmata, nailing himself to the roof through his palm! We discussed the peculiars of this particular roofer's situation for about five minutes, neither of us sure whether his reaction was reflex, smarts, or God's absolute brilliant light shining down on him that day. He showed me his own scar, a gash from a falling drill in his lower leg.

I'll mention here that my first "what-do-I-want-to-do-when-I-grow-up" was build houses. It's mostly this socialization that turned me away from that idea. I'll add that story to the "con" category, but I still plan to build my own house. Ten fingers, ten toes.