I used to work at a car wash. I assume when you read that one of a three things come to your mind: 1. The movie The Wash, with Dr. Dre and Snoop; 2. The Car Wash movie, old school with Richard Pryor and George Carlin; or 3. The Working at the Car Wash song, which I now apologize for getting stuck in your head. Well, these three images are not far off. The characters are familiar, the problems are similar, and the struggle is real. I say that comically, of course.
Growing up my mom and dad worked hard. Both of them had factory jobs. On the side they would work for my grandpa refinishing pianos. My mom’s finger nails were dirty and our basement smelled of wood stain. This is where my work ethic came from. I learned to work hard for what I wanted. The word no just told me I haven’t found the way yet. I also grew up with three brothers so working in a mostly male field in the car wash felt almost natural.
My first day I was teamed up with a very charismatic fella. We worked at the end of the line and we each dried and vacuumed our side of every vehicle as it came to us. When there was a lull my partner disappeared. Maybe for a smoke break, maybe to talk with the girls up front, or who knows really. I worked on a few cars on my own hoping he would come back soon so I could sweat a little less. All the while knowing this wasn’t okay. There had to be a more efficient way.
The general manager, who later became my mentor in business, was a visionary. As I moved up in the company we became fantastic partners. We didn’t always agree, we often challenged each other, and he always gave me room to try. I would sometimes succeed and sometimes fail, but he always let me learn. I learned to take apart and put together flow jet pumps, flip the chain, replace a sprocket, and even weld rollers back together. I trimmed hedges, shoveled sludge from the pit, and drove a forklift. I got my hands dirty. I was a car washer. Later I got into training and marketing, but that is not the point here.
Now I teach elementary students, but that is still not the point. Since working at the car wash I have had three daughters. My youngest just got her first bike. Her sisters are two years older. Now that their little sister has a bike they immediately feel the need to get their training wheels off, to which they intuitively replied, “but that’s a daddy job.” My response was a nod. Yes a nod. I nodded not because I couldn’t do it, but because I didn’t feel like doing it. My husband is amazing. He is handy, knowledgeable, and would gladly take off the training wheels. My girls know that.
Today I sanded our bedroom windows and re-stained them while my husband worked. As I scraped away the signs of condensation I got a glimpse of a child riding his bike out the window. This brought me to thinking that those training wheels are still attached. Why did I let my daughters think that was a daddy job? Yes, I was feeling lazy. Or maybe it was because I wanted them to have that time with their dad. He works a lot and if they want him to do that, then I want them to have that experience.
The point is, I let my daughters down. I need to teach by example. I need to teach them how to take their training wheels off. I don’t consider myself a feminist (maybe more of a humanist?), but I do want my daughters to know they are capable of anything they work hard at. I want them to get their hands dirty. I want them to feel pride in their sweat and tears. I want them to seize opportunity. I know you don’t have to get dirty to experience hard work, but who doesn’t like getting dirty?!
Monday, those wheels are coming off.
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