My Roots

When I was growing up, I worked with my dad and uncle at Blake’s Plumbing and Heating. One year when I was 16 or 17, I figured out that they were working me too hard. I asked my friend’s mom who hired summer students at Libby’s to get me a job.  I became a palletizer, which meant I had to load boxes containing industrial-sized cans of peas on a pallet so the lift truck driver could move them.

I was literally at the end of the line, and when the boxes kept coming faster and faster (in my mind anyway), the woman operating the line told me if I couldn’t keep up, I could just push a button, stop the line and keep working until I got caught up.

No sooner had I pushed the button when a foreman came down the line screaming four-letter words at me. I looked up to see the other workers laughing. They had tricked another rookie. No one stopped the line. I learned that life working for my dad wasn’t so bad!

Growing up in Wallaceburg taught me important lessons about being an adult (even if I wasn’t smart enough to listen all of the time). I was about 10 years old and was helping a buddy deliver newspapers on James Street. 

My friend yelled a four-letter word at some guys across the street. My family operated a business, and it seemed like they knew everyone in town. It turned out they did. By the time I got home, they had heard what happened. My friend swore. I got grounded. I learned that people are watching, and you will be judged accordingly.

My mother used to tell me it takes years to build a reputation and a day to destroy it. I’ve made my share of mistakes, but I’ve learned to own them, and I’ve been fortunate enough for those I’ve wronged to forgive me. That’s a priceless gift.