Kenneth Avery is a Southern humorist with well over a thousand fans. The charm and wit in his writing span a nearly a decade.
I Hate to be This Scornful
but the time has come for me to unload something that I have been keeping inside and now I must share them or go nuts. Take your choice. First thing is I do not want to go nuts and secondly, what choice do I have but share these things except I am already too deep into this hub to stop. My parents, teachers, and the bosses that I had in my working years taught me one thing if not anything else: Do not quit. No matter what. Do not quit. I recall "not quitting" two of the jobs that I tried to do, but you see, it was these two companies who quit on me. So I stand before you an innocent man.
You see, this hub honestly consists of a cold chunk of truth that is applicable to every teenager in the world. Yes, even teen's in Africa hate work like I was made to do. With that point being made, I will just try my best to share my own opinions about my dad and mom, two of the best people God ever gave as parents. Still. I hated the chores that I was told to do. Not ask, mind you, but do and right now. What did this 13-year-old kid think, was I a boot in the U.S.M. C? I tell you the truth that my parents could have share-cropping and went to apply at the U.S.M.C., Camp Henderson, S.C., and I tell you, they would be put to work as Drill Instructors on that day. No lie.
Why I Hate Work
is capitalized because it would make a great essay for all junior, senior, high school classes and the sophomores and juniors in any college that has a wide-range of liberal arts program. I will go as far as to tell you that if some out-of-work songwriter on 16th Ave., Nashville, TN., is interested, I will email him or her my ideas about Why I Hate Work and let them run with it. Of course, the only thing that I require is 40%, the 60% will go to the songwriter. Hey, I don't even want to be invited to the CMT Awards. Just have that 40% scratch from my essay idea now turned hit song (sang by) the always-witty and colorful, Hank Williams, Jr. I cannot wait.
Green Beans and Lawn Mowers: Why I Hate Work in a negative way. Yes, a negative way. I could write for hours about this one plague, work and never get finished. I have to be honest, again, not every teen in the world hates work. There are those over-achievers who give it all they had when it comes to education and why they allude to taking numerous courses that will not be used in their vocations. Then it might stem back to Biblical days when two brothers, Cain and Able were working in their dad's garden, and not Eden, I might add.
God asked the brothers to take their sacrifices to Him and He would bless it. Able did just right and Cain's sacrifice was not pleasing to the Lord, and as the day wore on, the two talked and talked and then Cain had enough. He killed his brother and ran like a fugitive and (not David Janssen), but anywhere near Adam, Eve and God. Cain just wanted to hit the road Jack, and he did.
Here are my personal reasons of why (in my early teen's) that work turned life against me:
⦁ Work pitted me against my dating schedule and this is why I did not get many dates. Or that many jobs either, but what guy had rather spend time on his job rather than sitting in a fancy restaurant with his gorgeous fashion-model girlfriend?
⦁ I never received the easy work. Nope. My best buddy, Rick, just spent a few minutes of charm and he did very little and the man who hired him gave him three-bucks. And me? Do you really want to know? I mowed this old geezer's lawn and only got a dime and twenty-five cents. Okay, some quick mathematics. 10 cents plus 25 cents = 35 cents. My reward for mowing grass. Rick's reward was $3.00 and did little work. Now are you getting an idea as to why I was taken for advantage for years?
⦁ While I was a teen, I had none, absolutely no free time to myself. It was either don't be late for school or why don't you go to school or hurry now and get those green beans picked. Understand? Even when I did attend school, the moment when I arrived home, I could not just "zone-out" and relax. Or maybe watch TV for a few hours. No! My mom and dad took care of my free time by siphoning off my hours of leisure to work at some of my parents' mundane labor. Do you see now why I hate work today?
Ever Endured The Picking of Green Beans
like I did? I hope so, because at this time you will understand why I not only hate work, but the back aches that work brings even to a teenage guy. And when the hottest part of August or September rolled around, guess who was burdened with the punishment of piickng those evil green beans? Me! Were you expecting someone else.
Make no mistake. The sun is always the hottest in Alabama when it's time to work like a dog and pick the green beans that I helped to plant. This is really a two-way humiliation. I guess (this) part of my working education was to keep me humble, but far from it. The very mentionof greenbeans and the Alabama summer sun causes me to deep waves of hate to bubble iniside of my spirit and then I have become so angry by being made to pick the sorry greenbeans, the source of my trouble, that I could bite a plug from the bark of a pine tree. I know that early coal miners never had it this rough.
And to make things even worse, green beans have two sources of help. Poor little ol' green beans. They are a good source of iron (now I prove my point) for the fertile women of child-bearing age! Did you read that? This non-consequental fact was only "suggested" by the Harvard Medical Society, so either way, greenbeans served no help to this young male teen when I was 13. Oh, the depression that these sad memories of planting, harvesting, and preparing greenbeans bring back to me.
Welcome to My "Trip Into Darkness"
when I was either punished or promoted when I was made to mow our yard. And I truly think that if you did not learn one thing about green beans, then this segment should do it very well.
First Things First
In order to know and appreciate how sad and low that this lawn mowing thing really was, at any age when I really focus on my menial labor of being forced to mow our yard always makes me feel so violated. So used. And so down-trodden.
⦁ Our lawnmower was less than decent. It sucked the very life of me out of my body to hold onto this cord-like rope to pull the crank to start this "Mechanical Monstrosity." And when mowing grass may be a punishment alone to itself in a horrible August sun, then the 22 plus pulls on the lawn mower would put me to my knees and yell to the top of my voice, why, oh, Lord, why me? And most of you have followed this same set of footsteps.
⦁ Lawn-mowing is more of a mirage that only appears in the Gobi or Sahara and this is so true, because I would drift into a lake of fire-like hot and have daylight-terrible dreams about being put behind a rickelty push-mower that smoked coupled with being stung by mosquitoes and any other kind of summertime insects and somehow fall into this scorching-hot chore that I knew would never end. Then I would start thinking about death. My own death that could come at any minute and my life would be over waslking and struggling behind that old lawnmower that I knew was going to explode at any moment and I would be happy. I even nick-named the lawn-mower "Time Bomb," as a cruel reminder to how sorry that my folks had treated me.
⦁ As an added punishment, with each pass that I would make around our house, I would spy my parents just sitting in the cool kitchen sipping coffee or soda and this, I always believed was staged by my parents to prove just how low and deplorable that I could be if pushed hard enough. And they did, my friend. I would tell you more about these executions of picking green beans and lawn-mowing, but the facts are just too cold and more painful than what I have been telling you at this time.
At Day's End of "Work"
that made me feel worse than "Lucas Jackson," aka/Paul Newman, when I finally finished the lawn-mowing, but boy, did I feel so great as I listened to the old, worn-out mower as it shut-down. But so what? I still had to walk into our home and be greeted by mom and dad who had not sweat one drop from all of the relaxing they enjoyed in the house.
But now here I am at age 66, in 2020, and I have finally caught some life wisdom surrounding the ideas concerning this narrative. Maybe the relaxing by my parents was ordained of God to sit in the cool and enjoy their coffee and soda because they had earned it. Yes, and no mistake made. Earned every minute of it. They had both worked their butts off to help feed and clothe me over the years,
Because they earned it. You bet that they did!
October 30, 2020____________________________________________
These Are The URL's Used in This Hub:
https://www.google.com/search?q=cooked+green+beans&tbm=isch&ved=2ahUKEwi2n5-Sh9vsAhXDGlMKHSw6Db0Q2-cCegQIABAA&oq=Cook&gs_lcp=CgNpbWcQARgBMgQIABBDMgQIABBDMgcIABCxAxBDMgQIABBDMgcIABCxAxBDMgcIABCxAxBDMgQIABBDMgcIABCxAxBDMgUIABCxAzIECAAQQzoECCMQJ1DO2wxYq-kMYLmFDWgAcAB4AIABWIgBzwKSAQE0mAEAoAEBqgELZ3dzLXdpei1pbWfAAQE&sclient=img&ei=r12bX_aLIcO1zAKs9LToCw&bih=657&biw=1366&hl=en#imgrc=vwchISqzMN6FSM COOKED Green Beans
© 2020 Kenneth Avery
Liz Westwood from UK on November 01, 2020:
Your article gives an interesting insight into your early experiences of work. I can see why you were put off.