faded blue baseball
cap to scratch his head. ‘Well there’s a barrow, a shovel and some gloves just
behind you. I left them out for you to use.’ He finishes scratching and pulls
the cap on again, back to front.
‘Thanks, Mike.’
I see him look over my shoulder. ‘Better get
back to it,’ he says, slamming the door.
I turn around. The Chief is repeatedly pointing
the drill at me and then at the pile of rocks. I almost give him the bird, but
figure I’m already on thin ice. Instead, I move over to the wheelbarrow and
pick up the gloves. They’ve seen better days. The fingers are almost worn
through and there is a hole in the palm of the right one. I slip the gloves on,
dump the shovel in the barrow, lift it and wheel it over to the pile.
I start first with the shovel, digging in to the
dirt and mud and chucking a few heaps of it into the barrow. Then I load some
of the smaller rocks and then a few big ones on top. My arms strain when I lift
the barrow and when I try to turn it I almost tip the load out altogether. But
I manage to keep it steady. I wheel it past The Chief and out to the skip. The barrow’s
tires catch on the gravel at the front of the house, making it extra hard to
push. I lean into the handles to give it all my body weight and the barrow
lurches forward, crackling the gravel. At the skip I heave the rocks over the
edge, smiling at the tinging thud they make as they land on its empty base.
Getting the rocks in is the easy part. I end up
wearing half the dirt when I try to shovel it into the skip. It rains down my
front and lands in a pile at my feet. I shake the loose dirt from my clothes
but I don’t pick up the stuff on the ground.
After a few more loads I start sweating it up. I
really want to get out of here. I decide to fill the barrow to the brim, get
the loads out quicker. I’m wheeling a particularly heavy load past The Chief
when my forearms give way. The barrow starts to lean to the right.
‘Watch it, Paul. You’re about to lose that lot.’
It’s him, eyeing me off with his hands on his hips. He makes no move to help
me. ‘Come on, put some elbow grease into it. Lift the bloody thing.’
I silently curse him. I should have known
today’s job was some kind of test. He’s always doing shit like this. Giving me
‘real man’s’ work, seeing how I react. Always trying to ‘toughen me up’. Like I
fucking need that.
My muscles strain trying to upright the barrow,
but it’s no use. The thing tips onto its side, dumping the entire load. Rocks
and gravel spew out over the ground. One of the smaller rocks seems to bounce
off the others, ricocheting and landing a metre from me, directly on The Chief’s
new patio flooring.
‘Nice going. Can’t manage a heavy load on your
own huh?’ The Chief picks up the rock and throws it at me. I am not quite ready
for it so my hands don’t get a good grip. The rock hits me in the stomach. I
buckle over, dropping the rock on the ground and holding my guts.
‘That fucking hurt,’ I say, looking up at him
through my eyebrows.
I can see him struggling, trying to decide
whether to rub it in, or to comfort me.
‘You’ll be right. It’s only a little rock for
Christ’s sake.’
Yep. No father-of-the-year award for him.
Four
On Tuesday Todd is waiting for me after the
final bell; he is waving at me from the hallway as I pack up my books. Some of
my students are dawdling at the back of the room. I watch as the girls huddle
and gossip in whispers, pretending to be far too engrossed in their
conversation to even think about packing up faster. I’ve seen this stunt pulled
before. While on most days kids are tripping over themselves to get out after
last period, sport days are another story altogether. An extra ten minutes
spent in the classroom can mean the world when sport is being avoided at all
costs.
I am just about to hurry them along when Todd
enters.
‘Let’s go everybody,’ he says, clapping his
hands. ‘I
cap to scratch his head. ‘Well there’s a barrow, a shovel and some gloves just
behind you. I left them out for you to use.’ He finishes scratching and pulls
the cap on again, back to front.
‘Thanks, Mike.’
I see him look over my shoulder. ‘Better get
back to it,’ he says, slamming the door.
I turn around. The Chief is repeatedly pointing
the drill at me and then at the pile of rocks. I almost give him the bird, but
figure I’m already on thin ice. Instead, I move over to the wheelbarrow and
pick up the gloves. They’ve seen better days. The fingers are almost worn
through and there is a hole in the palm of the right one. I slip the gloves on,
dump the shovel in the barrow, lift it and wheel it over to the pile.
I start first with the shovel, digging in to the
dirt and mud and chucking a few heaps of it into the barrow. Then I load some
of the smaller rocks and then a few big ones on top. My arms strain when I lift
the barrow and when I try to turn it I almost tip the load out altogether. But
I manage to keep it steady. I wheel it past The Chief and out to the skip. The barrow’s
tires catch on the gravel at the front of the house, making it extra hard to
push. I lean into the handles to give it all my body weight and the barrow
lurches forward, crackling the gravel. At the skip I heave the rocks over the
edge, smiling at the tinging thud they make as they land on its empty base.
Getting the rocks in is the easy part. I end up
wearing half the dirt when I try to shovel it into the skip. It rains down my
front and lands in a pile at my feet. I shake the loose dirt from my clothes
but I don’t pick up the stuff on the ground.
After a few more loads I start sweating it up. I
really want to get out of here. I decide to fill the barrow to the brim, get
the loads out quicker. I’m wheeling a particularly heavy load past The Chief
when my forearms give way. The barrow starts to lean to the right.
‘Watch it, Paul. You’re about to lose that lot.’
It’s him, eyeing me off with his hands on his hips. He makes no move to help
me. ‘Come on, put some elbow grease into it. Lift the bloody thing.’
I silently curse him. I should have known
today’s job was some kind of test. He’s always doing shit like this. Giving me
‘real man’s’ work, seeing how I react. Always trying to ‘toughen me up’. Like I
fucking need that.
My muscles strain trying to upright the barrow,
but it’s no use. The thing tips onto its side, dumping the entire load. Rocks
and gravel spew out over the ground. One of the smaller rocks seems to bounce
off the others, ricocheting and landing a metre from me, directly on The Chief’s
new patio flooring.
‘Nice going. Can’t manage a heavy load on your
own huh?’ The Chief picks up the rock and throws it at me. I am not quite ready
for it so my hands don’t get a good grip. The rock hits me in the stomach. I
buckle over, dropping the rock on the ground and holding my guts.
‘That fucking hurt,’ I say, looking up at him
through my eyebrows.
I can see him struggling, trying to decide
whether to rub it in, or to comfort me.
‘You’ll be right. It’s only a little rock for
Christ’s sake.’
Yep. No father-of-the-year award for him.
Four
On Tuesday Todd is waiting for me after the
final bell; he is waving at me from the hallway as I pack up my books. Some of
my students are dawdling at the back of the room. I watch as the girls huddle
and gossip in whispers, pretending to be far too engrossed in their
conversation to even think about packing up faster. I’ve seen this stunt pulled
before. While on most days kids are tripping over themselves to get out after
last period, sport days are another story altogether. An extra ten minutes
spent in the classroom can mean the world when sport is being avoided at all
costs.
I am just about to hurry them along when Todd
enters.
‘Let’s go everybody,’ he says, clapping his
hands. ‘I
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