Mercy! Mercy! That Dang Nabed PERCY!

Passion and Aptitude

I have a passion for restoring old trucks but not much of an aptitude. I went to Technical School after I retired and learned all about engines and drive trains and electrical and body work and I was the dumbest student in the class. Those young kids who had been raised in farm shops working alongside their fathers and uncles could fix anything.

One of my fellow students had been valedictorian of his High school and I asked him one day why he chose to go to technical school. He gave me a funny look and replied..."We all talked about it on the farm and decided that that's what I needed to do. I replied, "You could have gone to MIT and become an Engineer." He answered, "I could have gone to any school in the Country." I countered, "Do you have any idea how much a graduate from MIT starts out at?" "How much? he asked. I didn't really know but I guessed. "80K a year." He laughed..."Do you have any idea what our Farm is worth?"

He was definitely the exception. He could have been a leader, an awesome force in the community, but his potential would never be developed to the extent it could have. Most of the other students had an aptitude, (the mechanic's gene) and no doubt went on to find employment but socially their development seemed retarded. Some had already spent time in the jail, some were on parole and some were headed down that road. Having done hard time is not that much of a social stigma out here in the potato fields where my ancestors were early settlers. For many it's almost a right of passage. You think those settlers were the salt of the earth and many were but these old barns hold some dark secrets. I was talking to one of my classmates and told him...you need to get a job, save some money, find nice lady to marry and make something out of yourself. Don't go an buy that brand new ford E-150 your're considering. He looked me like I was from Mars. "Ain't no woman worth a pick-up truck" he answered. Several classmates were listening and thought that was pretty funny. Still I thought reflecting. {He's Northern European and if you know much about Germans, you realize they love their cars more than they ever will their wives.{/i}

This is a subject I could blog about all day and maybe I'll devote some time to it. But for now let me get back to the theme of this installment. In our family they tell the story that one Christmas when my father was off in the big WW, my mother bought my brother a truck,(he was eight) and for me she got a doll. I had an older sister but she died as an infant. My mother wanted me to be a girl. Anyway on Christmas morning in an apartment in Milwaukee my brother and I opened our presents. He was thrilled with his truck and I was livid. I threw my doll at him and pitched a fit. My Grandfather, thought this was the funniest thing he had ever seen, and started teasing me...he had a wicked streak and kept it up until my mother was beside herself. She tried to get my brother to share and that didn't work...finally in despair she gathered up what cash she had and went back to the store. There was a truck similar to my brothers in the window and in the back the owner was sweeping. My mother pounded on the window pleading with him to come...To make a long story short he opened up, sold her the toy and I shut up. Ever since then I had a fondness for trucks even though I will never morph into much of a mechanic. I learned enough to get by and I have a shed full of them.

Mother kept that doll...in her old age would rock it, along with two or three others she had stashed. She always liked babies...sometimes she slept with them if nobody was paying attention...

If I had made my living in the automotive field I would have been a failure. Instead I chose the military for which I had a talent for but not much of a passion. I was better at it than most and scooted right up through the ranks. I pretended I loved it. Most of my peers genuinely did...I know my father did, but for me bearing the responsibility, constantly under resourced and over committed, trying to make technology work with soldiers inept at it, trying to do the job while soldiers abused alcohol, drugs, and presented a never ending raft of personal problems provided a constant distaction...and often those who knew what they were doing simply chose not to do it. Some Civilians think that in the miliary all the commander has to do is make a decision...issue and order and it gets done. Dreamers! Anyway the buck stops with the commander and I had a knack for stretching resources and getting the job done. I won't share with you today the management philosophy it took to survive in that climate, it would leave you shocked. Anyway I finally ran out of gas and retired after twenty-seven years and thanked God I still had my sanity and a reasonably healthy body.

So the point is that military service was one thing and completely different from my truck passion. I had an aptitude for a tough job and did it even though my heart wasn't always there. With the trucks I liked working on them even though my friends and relatives shake their heads when they see me at work. Most of them feel sorry for me and can only watch so ong before they take my wrenches away or the welder or the can of Bond-O.

So I want you to hold the thought....Aptitude VS Passion...My wife is hollering at me to get my lazy ass out of bed. I have a To-Do list to that needs attention, not to mention those trucks I really need to be working on.