Happiness in a front loader

Every time my son pretends he is going to work, I ask him, “Where do you work?” He says, as if I should know by now, “with the dump trucks!” He is passionate about dirt and dumping. He knows, without hesitation, what makes him happy.

Some people never figure it out. I admire this about my son. I am serious-faced when he tells me he needs water to build a road. He fills a bucket from the pool and dumps it in his sandbox. Making mud is his specialty, the way one might make pizza or perform a skateboard trick.

My husband chimes in, “You want to be a doctor, don’t you?” My husband is a nurse. He found his career in his thirties, wishing always he came to it sooner, wasting no time in construction and back office financial services.

This stops my son. Behind his young eyes, his wheels spin like Lightning McQueen’s tires. After a few seconds, he agrees. “Yes, I want to be doctor.”

The moment feels disproportionate to the truth. No matter how my son views the world, I want him to stay truthful to himself, his personal happiness and not follow a path he is less than passionate about.

When I have this discussion with my husband privately he says guidance is important. He wishes he had a mentor earlier on to lead him to his career. He loves nursing and helping others, but he has loftier goals too – going back to school to become a physicians assistant.

“Do you want to have a boat one day?” he asks our two-year-old chasing the dog with his dump truck. I suck my teeth. My husband laughs.

To me that doesn't weigh heavily when teaching a young mind about setting goals and following dreams. We live a simple life, surrounded by mountains and nature in a working-class town. At the end of the day, we are happy. That is what matters most.

“You can work with dump trucks if you want to,” I whisper in his ear when we are alone.

“I want to work with you,” he responds. At this I laugh. Eight hours behind a desk editing stories about road closures, small-town crime and the new IHOP coming to Main Street, doesn't seem as cool as dump trucks. But I am touched he wants to be with me everyday, maybe even every hour.

My greatest wish for him is that he is passionate about life and that he finds a sense of success and fulfillment with whatever he chooses to do. Will I be there to lead him in the “right” direction? Only, if it feels right to him.

“That sounds fun,” I say. “Let’s work together.”

He lifts his hand from the front loader. It is a gritty mix of mud and sand. Still he manages to make a fist. I offer my fist up too. There, among the dump trucks and dirt, we do knuckles.