Friday, May 14, 2010

Thanks, Dad

I'm filling in for someone else today.  That means three things of awesomeness:

1.  I get to play on the radio (and by play, I mean I get to tell people what to do).
2.  I get to sit at a different desk to do my daily eight hour "research" on the Internet.
3.  I get to have full access to the purchase order computer drive.

SCORE.

And, of course, because of all of this, I'm missing my dad.

Because they've got me putting part/equipment numbers on the purchase orders. 

The Code Master, who's worked here for at least 75 years and has all of the codes memorized, was shocked that I was getting 95% of them right on the first try (while the regular lady, who's been working here for 18 months only gets 50% right on a daily basis).

Well, yeah!  I'm The Paul's daughter!  I'm totally trained!

The Paul has a small farm equipment shop (along with the ranch). 

He taught me the about bushings and couplings, switches and tines, sections and valve stems.

He let me help him put equipment together (which was fun as long as we finished before 10 am, when it really started getting hot).

He let me work at the shop doing inventory and getting people parts. 

He let me do some of the billing where I had to find the right code in the right catalog (pre-computer). 

Dad didn't micro-manage - he gave you something to do and then let you do it.  Sometimes he gave you something to do and expected you to figure it out.  And sometimes, when you ran the finger wheel rake into the fence because you'd misjudged the width of the opening, he'd help you fix your mistakes.

So, like I said, I'm missing him.  Nothing like a few codes to make the nostalgia come rolling in.

1 comment:

jlbunting.com said...

This is a sweet post. It reminds me of my dad too. The quiet farmer type who expects you to know what you're doing. Kind of frustrating when you don't know what you're doing! Never wants to say good-bye so when you talk on the phone there are a few minutes of silence while you decide that the conversation is over and you have to figure out how to get him to hang up. And then the fertilizer man calls and saves you! I really don't know if your dad was like my dad at all, but reading this made me nostalgic too! I'm sorry you're missing him and you can't call him. I can't imagine how tough that would be.