He doesn’t understand. He probably thinks I should get a good factory job, work there for thirty years, then retire with a good pension. You know, just like he did.
Sometimes I wish I could do it, but that would have me retiring at 71. There also aren’t many “good” factory jobs anymore. You’re lucky to get twelve bucks an hour now. He was pretty lucky in that regard.
When I started my blog, a little over a year ago, I mentioned it at Thanksgiving dinner.
“What’s a blog?”
“Well, I just write stories about things I’ve done, things I’m doing, things I want to do. Kind of whatever.”
“How do you make money at that? Does someone pay you to do it?”
“No. I am trying to figure out how. There’s one blogger that kind of does the same thing as me, and she makes pretty good money off of ads and writing for other papers and shit. I think you have to do it for a while to get known though.”
“How many people read your blog?”
“Usually around fifty, but some posts have had over 150. Those were the ones about Aaron and I flipping the canoe in the river.”
“Jesus. Fifty people want to read what you wrote? That’s pretty good.”
“Yeah, I know. It’s hard to believe.”
It really was hard to believe. What the fuck have I ever done that would interest anyone?
While Dad was trying to comprehend what would make me want to write my life down on the Internet for free, I was thinking about how shitty it would be to stand at a machine, trimming plastic parts as they come out of the mold. It’s no wonder people in factories fuck each other into alcoholism on a regular basis. They’re bored as shit.
Don’t get me wrong, I like sex and booze as much as the next guy. I just don’t want to abuse those vices out of a necessity to feel alive like many people do.
Wait, I’m not saying that everyone in a factory is philandering away their life, because some people embrace it. Some folks, like my Papa, need a routine, and love having their life planned out for them. It ain’t right and it ain’t wrong, it just is.
I’m not one of those people, and for over a year now I’ve wanted to be a blogger, so when Kym contacted me about Aiming Low, I felt like I had finally accomplished that. Whether my dad, or anyone else, understands it, I feel like I’ve done something. Something that got noticed. Something real.
What’s something you’ve done that makes you proud?