By A. R. Amore of The Plagued Parent
This week I had a new walkway installed. The old walk was 13 years old and put in by yours truly. Over time it buckled and sank thanks to a maple tree — a much hated maple tree that my wife will not even consider chopping down.
The landscaper we hired showed up with a crew of four and in about two hours undid what had taken me three days to build. “Do you want to save the old pavers?” he asked. I told him yes, pointed out a spot to put them and expected that when I got home from work later that day there would be a mounded pile of bricks. When I left tools and shit were scattered all over the driveway. Dirt from the bottom layer of the old walk was everywhere and dusty foot prints marked up my recently re-stained front porch. “We’ll be back to finish up tomorrow, ” were the last words I heard from him.
When I got home here’s what I found: driveway swept and hosed, same for the porch, and the pavers had been stacked and arranged by size and color (more or less) neatly out of the way. I stood amazed and impressed.
Why, though? Why did I marvel at them having cleaned up after themselves? Have we come to expect so little that when someone actually does their job we jump up and down with joy? It’s common courtesy, right? If you make a goddamn mess, you better well clean it up. That goes for all messes as far as I am concerned — physical, emotional, spiritual, financial.
Granted I am paying these guys, but I have had contractors of all sorts in my home over the years and some of them just can’t wait to get the hell outta dodge and home to an ice-cold beer.
Look, I get that. It’s bullshit, but I get it. Finish the job and leave the site in better shape than when you found it.
It’s sort of the same thing with politicians. I made the unfortunate decision to watch the so-called Republican debate the other night. As with most viewers I was into it because of Trump. Overall it was unimpressive, and not because I am a not-so-easily-impressed-east-coast-liberal-media-junkie. No, the obvious and oblivious pandering by the potential candidates and the mock-seriousness of the “moderators” was comical. Plus, it wasn’t a debate at all — very little of substance was offered. An NPR piece assessing the evening’s aftermath likened it to “speed dating.”
I ask again — and we find this acceptable?
Well, I for one am done. I am done applauding and awarding what people should do because it is their responsibility. If it is your job and you do it, don’t look for me to jump up and down, pat you on the back and reinforce your shaky self-esteem.
And if you don’t do your “job,” if you don’t clean up after yourself, then don’t expect a free pass allowing you to avoid the hard work of being responsible. Listen, shit happens, but stop making excuses for not doing, put on your big-kid pants and get the job done.
Otherwise you look like a lazy, whining baby. Babies are cute, but every parent alive cannot wait for them to emerge out of diapers and learn to wipe their own asses. I can’t imagine anyone being satisfied with simply making it to the toilet — unless you are senile and in a home. Then and only then should you definitely get an award, because you would actually deserve it.
This piece was originally published on The Plagued Parent
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About The Author
Anthony and Christina Amore are the husband and wife team behind The Plagued Parent, a blog site dedicated to parenting, social commentary as well as fiction and poetry writing. The two are college professors who live, work and raise their family in Southern Rhode Island. Find them on Facebook.