An entry adapted from July 2009
My dad farmed for many years as a young man, working for my grandfather. He tried his best to please his father, but that often came at the expense of his family. He had hoped to become an equal partner in the business, but he never received anything more than a meager wage. It was tearing his marriage apart. I am not sure how many years it took for my dad to break away from grandpa, but I know that my father spent the final years living in the Firth house sweeping chimneys to provide a living for his family, or at least to supplement it. The break would be finalized when Dad moved his family to St. George. As I look back upon it now I am rather impressed, and mortified, by the gamble my father took in moving his family to the city.
I don't know exactly how my grandfather made a living. I know he bought and sold land, occasionally farming it. Once in awhile to took on some business venture that he thought might be profitable. One such venture occurred when my father was a Senior in high school. My grandfather had purchase a hotel in St. George and he had put my father and grandmother in charge of running it while he attended to business elsewhere. My father only lived in St. George for a year or two, but he remembered those days with fondness. And so it was that when he looked to forge a new life for his family he moved them to St. George, where he had lived briefly for a season. If it were not for his ingenuity we never would have made it. My parents had eight children, and with six children remaining in the home my father moved us to the city without previously lining up a job to support his family. He put an ad in the local newspaper advertising himself for handyman work. He made business cards and distributed them to local lumber stores to give to their costumers who needed someone to install the merchandise they purchased. Business slowly rolled in, with his wife and children acting as receptionist for incoming client calls. If he didn't know how to do something he would teach himself. In a relatively short amount of time my self-employed father had a very successful business. He stopped advertising because his word of mouth business had grown to the point that he had to turn away jobs because he was too busy.
I believe I started working with my dad about the time I could walk. Okay, maybe not that early, but I do remember playing in a corner of the garage, pushing around sawdust with screws and scraps of wood, while dad built our family's picnic style dinner table. I like to pretend that I helped build it. Realistically, I began accompanying my dad to work during summers and occasionally on weekends when I was around the age of ten years, possibly earlier. Initially my labor entailed fetching tools for dad or holding boards as dad cut and hammered them in place. At that time I was unpaid child labor. I accompanied dad to work, I believe, to save mom's sanity by having one less child in the home during the day, but also I believe it was so that dad could teach his boys principals that are only learned through hard work. Steve and I rotated the days we had off, but for a school age child that is a major sacrifice of one's summer. We had to be up early, working long, hard days, without much return for our efforts (neglecting the fact that we were provided with a comfortable home to live in, food for our bellies, and all the needs that my father's industry provided for us). I hated working with my dad. Mostly though, I think I hated getting up early (I still do). Despite my disdain for working my childhood summers away I learned valuable lessons that I am eternally grateful for now. It is true that I learned a valuable trade, but more valuable than the trade I learned were the lessons of life. I learned to work hard and honestly, to take pride in my work, and all the while I learned lessons of ethics and morality.
When I became a scout and had to be absent from my father's side during the week of scout camp I felt somehow responsible for the void I would be leaving. My sister Bonnie was to take my place, but I did not feel that this was adequate, for I knew the inner workings of my fathers craft and she did not. I was taught to anticipate my father's needs, and I knew what tool he would need before he would need it, and I would have it ready for him. She would not be as well equipped as I would be, but at least I could prepare her in ways that might make her a useful tool in dad's hands. As I mentioned previously, my basic responsibility entailed fetching tools and holding boards, and this she could do if she knew where to find Dad's tools. With this knowledge in mind I drew an intricate map of where every tool lay within Dad's work truck. As they worked together Bonnie quietly referred to her map when ever Dad requested a tool of her. Dad wasn't sure what was contained on the paper that she keep in her pocket, but he knew that she never had to ask where a tool was. This story illustrates that at a young age I understood and felt the weight of responsibility, and in my stewardship I have become an intricate member and leader of every organization that I have had the privilege of being involved in.
As my skill and value increased I soon became an asset to the clients that my dad worked for. By decreasing the amount of time Dad needed to complete the job I was saving the client money. This was enough to merit a pay raise. My first paycheque, for a whole summers wages, was to receive a mountain bike. Of course Dad couldn't buy bikes for Steve and I without buying one for Bonnie too, but I wasn't one to complain that I had to work a whole summer for mine while she didn't have to work a day for hers. The next summer I petitioned to receive an hourly wage, at which I was paid $2/hour, charged to the customer. By he end of the summer I believe I was making $3/hour. The next year I received a raise of $5/hour, but by summer's end I was being paid $10/hour. It was that summer that Dad began to turn some of his easier jobs over to me. I worked independently of him, setting my own appointments, billing the customers myself. And at a rate of $15/hour it was good money. The following year I became an independent agent, not only in my work, but also in my home life. I still lived at home, I was, after all, only a teenager, but I was not bound under the house rules. I came and left as I please, did as I felt, answering to my own conscience. This description may alarm most parents, but the key here is that I was taught at a young age the principals of morality and accountability. I was independent by right of maturity, and could no longer be treated as a child. My future was my own, and I took it seriously.
My father took a mortifying step into the unknown, but his character would not let him do anything else but succeed. From my father I have learned to be a man... to take the future into my own hands and make it my own.
