Compared with my blue-collar father, I don’t do ‘real’ work
It was late last year when I truly realized the difference between the kind of work I do and the work my father does.
Dad was late for a family dinner, and when he finally arrived, he looked somewhat shaken. After making small talk with relatives, he sat down beside me and quietly, so as not to alarm anyone else, explained how he had narrowly avoided serious injury at the factory that day. He had come close to being struck by a falling steel beam. It wasn’t the first time he had escaped injury at work, but this near-miss had obviously gotten to him in a way the others had not.
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