Journal of a Working Boy

(written Thursday, July 6, 2006)

My brother Kyle has never caught a fish. He doesn't count the ones he probably caught as a child, fishing with our dad in a small green three-person boat in southwestern Kentucky. He jokes about how he'll cry if a fish ever bites his hook then escapes during the struggle, as was the case a couple years ago during an excursion in Tennessee. If he catches a fish tonight, at Laurel Lake, also in southern Kentucky, he says, "I'd be so happy, I'd bite that fucker's eye out."

"Captain Kyle," as he's known on the boat, casts his line toward the middle of the lake with a worm on his hook that his friend mounted for him. He doesn't like sticking the hook through the worm, he says, and he sips a can of beer while slowly reeling in the line. His girlfriend, Beth, leans against him and the two enjoy the fruits of another two-week, out-of-town stint working for our dad's construction company. This job has yielded a big enough paycheck for Kyle to pay his mortgage, property tax, cable TV, electric and boat payment this month, with enough extra for a weekend break from the work and worries.

Earning big bucks at a young age, which Kyle did out of college, allows for a spending pattern that relies on the income staying high. Although he's already paid off his truck, credit cards and a ridiculously extensive tool set by working 50 and 60 hour weeks for dad, he still must come up with the dough that property ownership, living alone, and general adulthood requires. It is this financial responsibility that anchors many Americans s too close to the shore, when what we really want is to close our eyes and set the sail.

Captain Kyle likes to explain his actions and physical state in a trademark holler normally emulated by his passengers. "Caaap-tain's druu-unk!" or "I'm pee-in!" are common declarations. During the July 3 afternoon cruise across Laurel Lake, Kyle randomly turns around from the steering wheel, looks me in the eye, throws his arms in the air and exclaims "FREEDOM!" He's half-joking, as the Fourth of July celebrating has already begun on the lake crowded with boats, jet skis and a healthy allotment of American flags. But in his smiling mockery of this great country's grand celebration is a sincere appreciation for his weekend of personal freedom, and the enjoyment for which he works so hard.

Prepared for professional life with a degree in Automotive Technology from Sinclair Community College in Dayton, Ohio, Kyle has earned certifications in just about everything a human can do to a car. He worked for a couple dealerships after graduation, busting his ass and coming home frustrated and tired. Once he began working for dad, he took the next step toward adulthood and bought himself a home. But with the security and comfort of property ownership comes an instantaneous and almost irrevocable immobility, which Kyle deals with by escaping to the lake whenever possible. It's not that he is unappreciative of his relationships and possessions back home, but the outdoors (along with the company, beer and relaxation) is the life.

Kyle won't catch a fish tonight, and he probably knows it, and he probably doesn't care. He loses his bait, passes the fishing rod back to a friend who slides another squirming worm onto the hook and he grabs another can of beer. He won't really be disappointed when he fails to catch the fish.

One day Kyle will catch a fish, probably with a worm that a friend hooked for him, and he'll be playfully ecstatic. He probably won't bite its eye out, but he swears that he'll eat it no matter how small it may be. But I don't get the impression, sitting on the back of his boat next to three other friends, that he is too worried about how long it will take.