The Night Shift

 Dad would kiss mom good night before leaving for work as us six kids got ready for bed. Really it was past our bed time -but we stayed up until 10:30pm just so we could say good night and I love you. It was a different kind of kiss than if he was kissing us all good night and we were all going to sleep. There was playfulness or joking . There were no cocotazos (tap on the head). There was no-now I mean it get to sleep. The Night Shift good night kiss had a call to duty and quickness.

It was strange thinking of him working while we all went to bed. In the morning when the sun came up we would look out the front porch windows and wait for the brown mini van to pull up while we were getting ready for school . Some days he would come home with his emerald green eyes surrounded with red specks and red, zig -zag lines cutting through his eyes like glass.

 The same blood red color when he came out of a swimming pool filled with chlorine burning his eyes -making making the green pop more.

 He would always smile extra big- as if with the smile we wouldn’t notice his tiredness that his body wouldn’t let him hide. Shoulders slumped forward with an effort to stay upright. Feet with heavy, slow steps as if walking through mud. His voice muffled and straining .

 Some days he would walk right to his room and try to sleep. Other days he would try to stay awake while we ate breakfast and make jokes. Some days he would say he wasn’t tired and needed to stay up a few more hours and he would drive us to school. 

 When we came home from school we would tip- toe and try to be quiet. Dad put blankets on the bedroom window to make the bedroom as dark as possible and try to trick his body to go to sleep. On weekends Dad would try to stay awake to do fun family stuff.

I did the math and figured some days he would stay up for 36 hours. Some of the 36 hour no sleep days he would take a two hour nap and get right back up and keep going because he missed the sun and daylight. Those days were 48 hours minus the two hour nap. He missed the daylight. He missed people from bible study. He missed us. 

Behind closed doors mom and dad would talk. Us kids would tip -toe and get as close to the door as possible . If we were too quiet they would know we were listening. So the best idea was to have a two of us kids in one room far away from the door playing and making noise and two of us tip toeing with our ear to the door so we could hear what the secrets were. 

The secret was dad’s boss was saying mean things to him. His boss would try to tell him how to do his job even though he didn’t understand the mechanics of machinery how Dad did. Dad had built machines with his bare hands and understood artistry and efficiency and how to use his body strength to work with the machine. Dad’s boss would tell racist jokes while dad was working and sweating and teaching others how to use their machines properly. 

With our ears to the door and pauses here and there we imagined mom sitting at the edge of the bed rubbing dads shoulders saying: it will be ok. She soothed his boiling blood with her listening ear, her heart and her food. Dad said he was documenting everything. He would feed his family but when the time was right he would go to HR and he would get a new job or get his shift switched to daytime. With our ears to the door we learned Dad was getting paid time and a half for the night shift and double time for any extra hours. The money was so good he ended up making more money than his boss on a salary.

After day time sleeping, Dad would wake up and sit at the dinner table with us, however he was unable to eat. After a few months his once proud posture turned to a slump. And he still smiled. He smiled with his blood shot eyes and swallowed the lump in his throat that said, “I am tired.” He would hold his fork and try to eat. Food was the way mom said I love you, and to not eat his food pained her as much as it pained him. 

We took care to keep our voices down at three in the afternoon. On weekends we waited for Dad to wake up and come out of the room so we could tell him about our day, about school. Our jokes. He tried his best to laugh as each week he lost weight. 

Although he lost weight each week and his appearance changed we still saw our Dad: the muscle man who once did pushups with at least two of us on his back. The man who held his arms out to the side as we would each hang off his biceps swinging like he was a playground. The man who designed machines and played guitar and sketched  pictures of landscapes and wrote our mother love poems and surprised her with flowers. 

I begged God, ” please,please don’t make my dad work the night shift anymore. He is going to die. Please God. Please. My dad was smarter than any business man I knew. Wiser than Any church clergyman. Stronger than any athlete. He was funny. He was handsome. Please. Please. Find him a better job than the green uniform bindery worker one. Please.”

On weekends dad still found strength to pass on his lecturing wisdom: My dad begged me- he said , “please do me one favor. Never punch a clock. Whatever you do-work for yourself. You have the world at your finger tips”.

He said this with his sweat and tears. He said this with sleepless nights. He said this as he bought us new wardrobes and shoes.

You can shovel or sell shovels. Right now I’m shoveling. You will sell shovels. Do what you love and the money will follow.  

I looked into my dads blood shot eyes, and I said,”  Yes dad. Thank you for shoveling so we can eat well and have a beautiful home. I will chose a job that I love. I will not punch a clock for someone else.  I will make all your sweat and tears and sleepless nights worth it.  And one day you and mom will sit in the yard and see it all paid off. I will make you both proud. “

A few weeks later dad was fired from his night shift job…..my prayer was answered.