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What’s Important
 This weekend was a reality check for me. I, like many, get so wrapped up chasing a career and money, I sometimes lose sight of what’s really important. Tragedy has a cruel way of slapping one back into focus. Here’s the story…
I coach a 10- to 12-year-old little league baseball team. The standing rule to parents is, if you want to help out, I'll put you to work. To me, that's what little league is really about — dads and moms spending quality time with their kids.
Ten-year-old "Johnny Jones" came to my team late in the season. I got to know his parents, very nice people both in their early 30s, as they alternated bringing Johnny to practices and games. I told them about my standing rule, and sure enough Mr. Jones began showing up with his mitt. I introduced him to my fungo bat and turned him loose. You should have seen the proud smile on Johnny's face as his dad banged out grounders and fly balls to the team.
This weekend we had a double header on one of the San Juan Islands, about an hour's ride by ferry. Lots of parents came along. Unfortunately, Johnny's folks couldn't make it, so I told Mrs. Jones that Johnny could hang out with my family. About midway through the first game my wife called me aside. Her dark look foreboded bad news: Johnny's dad had just been found killed in a logging accident.
It hit me like a sledgehammer. The only word I can think of to describe that horrible feeling is "empty." Things like this happen to people in the newspaper, not folks you know on a first name basis.
We finished the games, insulating Johnny from the news, allowing him perhaps his last chance at being a carefree 10-year-old — blissfully ignorant of the life-changing event looming over him like a gathering storm.
His mom and grandparents were there at the ferry terminal, red-eyed, struggling not to cry. I managed a strained smile as I delivered Johnny and kept walking. The sound of his sobs as I walked away will haunt me always. There can be nothing more devastating to a kid than losing his dad.
Mr. Jones lost his life doing what he had always done, logging. Last Friday should have been like any other, except when his partner didn’t show, he went ahead and fired up the chainsaw anyway, alone. He cut an alder, but instead of it falling to the ground, it got hung up in some other trees. Apparently, he turned to move on. Suddenly, a gust of wind blew the alder loose. In the blink of an eye it plummeted earthward, several tons, catching him squarely across the back. He didn’t see it coming, didn’t have a chance.
This particular accident happened to a logger. But it could have been an equipment operator, framer, electrician, roofer, painter, anyone. Another man I knew, part owner in a small, financially-strapped gravel pit, committed suicide recently. Apparently the pressure of running his flagging business and paying off loans became more than he could bear.
Our industry is fraught with peril, it comes with the territory. But why does it have to be the awful, terrible things that cause us to pause and reflect inwardly? Life can be so fragile.
As my kids rampage through my office this morning, pestering me no end, and my wife adds yet another task to my foot-long honeydo list, I find myself smiling. How lucky I am to have these things. They’re what’s really important.
Tim Garrison of ConstructionCalc.com, is a professional engineer, author and software producer for the building industry. Send e-mail to buildersengineer@constructioncalc.com. Tim reads every one.
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The views expressed in this article represent the personal views, statements and opinions of the author and do not necessarily represent the views, statements, opinions or policies of the National Association of Home Builders. NAHB does not necessarily endorse any of the views expressed by the author and NAHB is not responsible for any direct or indirect consequences arising out of the views expressed in this article.
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