Labor Day.

Growing up, Labor Day meant school was just about to begin, and the day was spent in Fremont picnicking and grilling out with my cousins. It was an exciting, fun day.

It wasn’t until later I understood the significance of the day, and the men and women it honors.

I grew up surrounded by blue-collar workers. I remember finding rubber nubs from the tire factory, in my grandpa’s work shirt pockets. My Uncle John worked odd hours and long shifts at the GM plant. Both my grandmas worked in a factory.

And of course, my dad. I wrote this poem about Dad for Visions and Verse II – an exhibit of ekphrastic poetry. Ekphrastic poetry is poetry inspired by another piece of art. In this case, a painting by my uncle, Phillip E. Schmitt. Uncle Bud, as we called him, taught how to re-upholster furniture at Goodwill.

Tool and Die Maker

(after Soul of Man by Philip E. Schmitt)

The 3 x 5 inch scratch papers are numbered 1-2-3

the sketches lettered A-B-C

lines straight, sharp

Dad drew the diagrams days before my visit

draws me back forty, fifty years

when he was a journeyman tool and die maker

You had to figure out the order of each bend

each one a different set up

Now these circles are punches, these are stops . . .

His vocabulary of sheet metal, bend allowance, stress

rolls off his tongue with the same thrill and precision

he worked his protractors, micrometers, calipers

standing at the workbench ten to fourteen hours a day

You really remember those test boxes I brought home?

But this afternoon as my eighty-year-old dad revels

in his work and my admiration, I remember

every morning

the smell of eggs frying for sandwiches

the clink of a metal lunch pail buckle

waking to find my math and spelling homework

but never my English

checked, waiting to be corrected

my eyeglasses cleaned and sparkling

the sound of the garage door opening and closing

hours before dawn

Here’s Dad at work!

I was fortunate enough to write a letter to Dad long before he passed away, thanking him for his hard work, all those things I noticed growing up but took for granted. When my sisters and I cleaned out our childhood home, I found the letter he’d kept.

Today, I thank all of you who still work in those back-breaking jobs that can be tedious, but are so important in keeping our country going. Yesterday at mass our petitions were for laborers – bus drivers, waitresses, those who answer sirens, construction workers, farmers . . . the list went on. I hope you’ve had the chance to grill out, picnic, and enjoy your family sometime this weekend.