The results of their labor

I grew up in a 100-year-old farmhouse near Peoria, Illinois. My dad was an OG DIY-er, and my mom subscribed to Architectural Digest. He worked in the tool room at Caterpillar, and she tended to the home and family with the occasional odd job to make ends meet. That combination of skills, aspirations, and income meant that our house was a continuous remodeling project, and my parents’ crew of six girls learned to swing both crowbars and hammers.

We didn’t just remodel the bathroom; we moved it from one side of the house to the other. We didn’t simply update the kitchen cabinets; we tore out the back wall of the house and expanded the entire footprint. If my mom could sketch it on graph paper, my dad and us girls could bring it to life.

Hence, my appreciation for the building and construction trades.

I admire people who are trained and experienced at reading plans and following instructions to apply, assemble, build, construct, dig, erect, finish, install, maintain, repair, patch, replace, service—something. Whether buildings, bridges, roads, or some other structure, trades people know how to use their hands and their brains to get work done. And at the end of the day, they can see the results of their labor.

Contrast that with those of us who spend our working hours, clicking the keys of a computer, attending meetings, and answering phone calls. Sure, we get work done too, but at the end of the day, we often don’t have tangible evidence of what we accomplished.

Earlier this year, Paul Nolley at Project First Rate invited me to attend the Building Trades Career Expo at the Plumbers & Pipefitters Training Center in Rockford. A dozen building and construction trade unions were there to introduce students and others to their work, skills, and apprenticeships. To accompany the exhibits, Project First Rate provided an Apprenticeship Guide that catalogs all the available programs, applications, and wage and benefit information.

I keep that catalog of building trades on my desk and occasionally flip through it. I can’t help but wonder what path I may have chosen if someone had asked 16-year-old Angela to put down her crowbar and browse through that catalog. A girl can dream.