When I was a kid, my dad's best friend was (and still is) a mechanic. His daughters were about our age and we spent tons of time hanging out with them. He is this big burly guy who loved to toss us around as kids, and he and my dad could always be counted on for a game of ball in the yard.
Often times, he would drop by after work on his way home to talk to my dad about something. During those visits, I remember thinking in the bratty way of 6 year old little girls, that although he was a lot of fun, I never wanted a job where I had to wear a uniform with my name on it or where my hands got so dirty.
This morning as I pulled on my white coat over my scrubs I happened to look down. . . right there over my pocket - my name. We won't even talk about what I get on my hands sometimes.
Hahaha - funny way to think of things! Perspective is everything, isn't it?
ReplyDelete