A Kid At Work

When I was a kid, I remember my dad taking me and my brother to work with him. He use to work the grave yard shift in a big, square, brown building "in the city." We were always so excited to join him. It was such a treat for a kid to stay up late, drive into Sacramento, enter the darkened halls of the quiet building, and wander around dad's work area, exploring.



I remember well the hard metal frame of the desks, the laminated "wood" surfaces, the barely there plastic cushioned seats on a heavy metal frame, the wheels that could crush our kid fingers, the cinder block computer monitors, the black screens with green block text, paper clips that could poke your eyes out, rubber bands that smelt like actual rubber. Dad would pass us yellow legal note pads and five or six pencils to draw with, but we knew that by the end of the night, we'd be throwing them at each other. If we could stay awake that long... For maybe an hour, my brother and I would sit studiously in the grown up chairs next to Dad's desk, drawing or writing. But it would only last an hour or so.

Then our attention would wander to the items on the desk. Then the items in the desk. Then the items under the desk. "Get off the floor," Dad would bark in between his work. We jumped up and quietly tip toed out of his field of vision. In no time, we were running up and down deserted hallways, splashing in the dark, hiding from robbers breaking into the building, but always finding our way back to the light oasis that were the vending machines.

Inevitably our boisterous play would become too rowdy and too loud. Usually near midnight or 1 am. Dad scolded us furiously, reminding us why it was so important not to get into trouble and thus possibly get Dad into trouble. We took it to heart, mostly because we were sweaty and hot, and, admittedly, tired. We would calm down then, panting in our chairs, our minds wandering as Dad returned to quiet work. Before we knew it, the soft typing sounds lulled us to sleep long before Dad's shift was over.

Now I'm the parent bringing my little girl to work. Abby has visited several times. Lee stays with her while I wrap up whatever work is keeping me there an extra 30 minutes or so. She's quite comfortable now at my desk. She's finally learned that the small room I work in is pretty much "Mommy's room" and she can do a lot of exploring. She's usually only there around 5 to 6 PM, so there's no late night fun. Yet. One day I hope to share that with her. For now though, I'm content with her short visits.





The last time she was there, she discovered the hidden realm under my desk. I had stashed a couple empty boxes under there, and Abby built herself a little fort. I couldn't help snapping a few shots of her at play while I imagined grave yard escapades with her when she's 7 or so, wandering the deserted tower of the building I work in now.

Funny that I work only about 6 miles away from where I spent a couple grave yard shifts with my Dad. Funny that I take the same roads to work that my Dad once drove and that I live in "the city" and it's not at all interesting. Funny that my job is to stop those imagined robbers of my youth. Funny what time can point out to you...