A WORKING MAN’S PRAYER

Growing up less than rich is not a bad lifestyle. I was raised by parents of modest means who had many children and had to make tough decisions every day about how to spend their limited income.

We, as children in this wonderful family, didn't feel poor or even notice that we had limitations; we were happy and had parents who were there when we woke up and one of them was always home when we returned from our day of school; mainly my tough, magnificent mother. We were loved, taken care of and looked after, despite our middle class lifestyle.

Life was good. My parents made a decent living but also had to make hard decisions about where and what to spend their limited income on. They made the right decisions and also made modest deposits into savings and stock accounts that had a profound impact on our extended family’s future well being.

That was the America that I grew up in; a place that had challenges where families had to make sacrifices and hard decisions to continue on; but life ultimately had great rewards for those who persevered.

My Dad was an educator, a teacher, a coach of great success and later in life; a leader in the education field. He was a success story who understood hard work and sacrifice for the greater good. My Dad wore the same 3 suits to work for almost 30 years. My mom tended other teachers’ children to help make ends meet during the same time frame and made sure that her children knew responsibility and accountability.

My parents would sit at the dinner table for hours on end helping their 9 children with homework, despite my parent’s other endless responsibilities, happy to steer their off-spring to success.

On this Labor Day, I salute my parents for their endless love of their own family and their contribution to the greater good of our community and this great country. My parents were both union and management during their life span. They understood work and the relationship between workers and those in charge.

My Dad worked in education for nearly 4 decades and never missed a day of work; not for any reason. He went to work hours before he was obligated to and came home much later than required. He never complained. My Mother honored him by making sure that our family had a safety net of power and compassion always at the ready; day and night.

This was the America I was privileged to grow up in; this was my life. Hard work should mean something. Sacrifice should result in rewards that extend and enrich life. This is now my Father and Mother’s reward; to see the enormous sacrifices they made grow into the calming knowledge that their hard work had meaning and results; that the long days and nights of their existence would nurture a continuing generation of success and growth.

Shouldn't we all have that sure knowledge that what we sow we reap? I work this union fight because it is who I am. This is what Labor Day means to me. It can be our future; that we hand a decent legacy on to our children. Life goes on and we should all be enriched for our sacrifices and hard work. This is my working man’s prayer.

Bruce K. Church

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