my grandfather shoveled rocks.
well, first he unlocked locks which was a damn good job for a seventh grade dropout
but he had to leave that job.
my dad had stolen a police car and my grandfather was having none of that,
so they moved to another city with not enough locks to unlock
but with plenty of gravel to be shoveled so he shoveled rocks.
in a tin can.
120 degrees, eight hours a day,
counted down the minutes ‘til home,
and then counted down the minutes ‘til work.
my grandfather had only known my dad for a couple of years by then
but he was his father. so he shoveled rocks. for my dad. for me
to be here?
i’m wondering what my grandfather would think about his granddaughter feeling ashamed
that her grandfather never knew what the inside of a high school looked like,
feeling ashamed that his son, her father never knew what the inside of a college looked like.
i’m wondering what my grandfather would think about all his work
shoveling rocks ending up at a place like this,
at a place built by people like him but not for
people like him.
i wonder if he would mind that i go to a school with more children from families of
steel mill owners than steel mill workers.
i don’t think my grandfather would have liked that.
yeah, it’s an ignorant sentiment.
yeah, it’s pretty closed-minded.
but my grandfather shoveled rocks.
in a tin can.
120 degrees, eight hours a day.
until he died.
so i think he’s deserved to be as closed-minded as he likes about
the families who got rich on his work.
i just hopes he understands why i need to be here.
because i can’t shovel rocks.
i’m not strong enough
to shovel rocks
in a tin can,
120 degrees, eight hours a day.
until i die.
so grandpa, i gotta play their game for a while.
but don’t worry: I’ll be back.