Everyone seems to have farm stories these days. I'm trying to follow this trend. I'm usually late when it comes to trends. This farm story is not romantic or even organic. I won't glorify exploitation. I'm exposing it.
My dear old man needed a break from engineering and decided to start a farm. He decided to have his children work on the farm. I was 5 or 6 at the time. This is the early 80's.
I remember working what seemed like forever for some wages. I was a little skinny pale kid. I never cared for labour. Still don't. Ask Danny. My memories of picking vegatables mainly consist of complaining and getting stung by flying aints. I remember what seemed like endless rows of veggies. Mainly green beans. I picked a little corn too.
It was payday. Dad drove up in his sky blue 1967 chevy pick up as I recall. He had our money. I remember being payed exactly $7.
This was disappointing.
I walked away quietly and tore up the money. It's hard to rip up money when you're five.
A few days later my father found the torn up cash. He wasn't pissed at me. I think he was amused that I was a stubborn bastard even back then.
(This is one of the few times in my life I've ever took a stand or made a statement about anything)