Labor Day Picnic

I remember when Labor Day was the day every year when Mom’s factory had their picnic at Shevlin Park. It was more like a mountain meadow in a pine forest with a big lava-rock ringed firepit and scattered redwood picnic tables. We didn’t do very many things as a whole family, but this was one of them. I especially liked the three-legged race which I ran with Mom. Dad ran it with my little brother. We never won the race, and usually ended up on the ground in a tangled, giggling mess, but I loved it. There was a balloon toss, egg race, and gunny sack races too. The factory made kites, balsa wood airplanes, and a Frisbee-like toy called Whiz-rings. There were competitions to see who could fly things higher, faster, farther. We all got handfuls of free planes, kites and whiz rings to compete with and then got to take them home. The fragile balsa airplanes were seldom in one piece after being flown into the ground all afternoon. They didn’t have any eating contests, but there was always a lot of food: hot dogs, burgers, potato salad, macaroni salad, beans, and cupcakes. I don’t know why, but hot dogs seem to taste better cooked outside over an open fire. They kept the watermelons chilling in the river until we ate so they were ice-cold.  It was nice to see Mom with all the people on her shift. We heard so much about them and it was good to see them. When I was little, Mom worked the graveyard shift so she slept during the day while we were in school. I didn’t even think, back then, about all her hard work, standing on concrete floors, racing to make quotas every hour, only having a half hour for “lunch” in the middle of the night. She was always there when I went to bed and woke us up in the morning. Today on Labor Day 2004, I salute all the moms and dads who go to work every day to put food on the table and a roof over their heads. It’s a lot of hard work with very little gratitude. Thank you.