Category: dad

This is extra short, but just a fun little explanation either way: I never really knew my dad as Timber Tom. That was a nickname he used as a forester and parks service worker, which he was never during my “memory years” (>10 years old). It was also his IRC name along with friends Tor (who may or may not have something to do with Tor Browser, TBD) and some others in the Mt. Shasta IRC groups that I may eventually find logs or names from/about. The reason I always refer to him as Timber Tom is because I believe that it is important to speak about someone that you think is great in a great way. You don’t call Superman “some dude”, you call him a superhero, or the Hero of Metropolis. You don’t call Master Chief “John”, you call him MASTER CHIEF, or THE CHIEF. Someone’s nickname, especially in their legacy, is so important because it gives future people a glimpse into the world that they were apart of, as well as reminds you of what others thought about them. It signifies or represents the best parts of a person, or the most interesting or important.

While I don’t think that the most important thing about Timber Tom was how good he was with a chainsaw, I do think the nickname properly represents how fucking cool he was. Who else has a nickname as catchy as TIMBER TOM?!

The other day I got to thinking: why are jobs difficult, and, more importantly, what makes jobs stressful? Stress means different things for different people, with some being stressed about social interaction, some stressed about the moral or societal implications of their job, others with the amount of effort and time they need to spend, etc. but I would like to propose an interesting personal comparison: my father’s job as a California Forester, and my job as an IT/Tech Support/Web Design Grunt.

Being a forester is a relatively simple job, yet it is not easy or unintelligent. Hiking and carrying tools is very difficult, and actually cutting trees and humping brush is even harder (as I had the fortune to learn cutting down only a few trees and occasionally helping my father clean up brush). Surveying, wildlife preservation, and using prisms and other tools is skillful labor, and the math and calculations involved is quite difficult. All of that being said, I have a massive amount of respect for my father and his job, but I do not necessarily think it is “stressful”. His job description was to do these 5 things, and, other than the occasional butting heads with the higher ups (which he and my Uncle Willie did plenty of), they were mostly their own bosses. I could be completely off base, but it really did seem like my dad lived a pretty carefree life as far as his work was concerned. It always seemed to me like his biggest stressor was simply not earning enough money (which is a different issue all together.)

My job, however, is very “deal with people” focused. I have very little choice as to what I do or how I do it, and I cannot make decisions for myself without clarifying or okaying them due to the fact that either my boss or the clients we work for (or perhaps even the public at large) has different opinions as to what is good or usable. Sure, there are opportunities for me as “the tech guy” to say “yes, my way is definitively correct and this is how it will be done”, but for all intents and purposes I am extremely limited in my freedoms.

A great example of this is if I notice something missing on a webpage. Usually my knowledge of the subject matter is around that of a layperson, meaning that, as a general statement, if I have a question about something, others will to. This becomes a problem when I begin to notice that, as a general layperson, many of the sites or pages are wildly confusing, too simple, contain pointless information, or have a structural error. Generally, I would find out the answer and add it to the page, and my boss is generally very supportive of this type of “guesswork”. Recently, however, as projects get larger and larger, the opinion of the layperson is considerably diminished in favor of the opinion of the “contractor”, or the individual that knows enough about a subject to be considered an expert. I would be as if I was explaining computer networking using advanced terms to someone that doesn’t know what a router is: functionally worthless.

To be clear, this is not a fault of my boss. There is a great deal of responsibility to be found in the delegation of tasks in a manner that makes the most sense as far as efficiency and accuracy is concerned, even if it somewhat outpaces content quality (especially when we don’t make the content), and many of these quips I have about things would slow the pace of the whole operation to a crawl. This whole issue is finally compounded with the last comparison I draw with forestry: correctness. There is a correct way to cut down a tree (for safety, speed, and quality of cut). There is a definitive right way to use a prism, or or sharpen a chainsaw chain, or any of the other tasks that a forester must do. The job is nonsubjective. However, when creating something, whether a program, a website, a chair, or a gun, there are subjective design considerations. What I think is nice looking may look awful to someone else (I believe that craigslist is the peak of web design; my boss, not so much :laughing:)

I believe this subjectivity is what makes jobs stressful. I assume my father thought like this too, though, as I really have no idea what being a forester was or is like. That being said, he probably would laugh what with me saying my job is stressful; I can hear him now: “You don’t know the meaning of stress!”

This post was a voice recording transcribed by my Pixel 8 Pro, then cleaned up, proofread, and formatted by ChatGPT. It has been carefully scrutinized to make sure that it still accurately conveys my original message, and is less than 2% different outside of grammatical changes

I was driving home today and I started thinking about the impermanence of objects. I damaged the fuck out of the right side of my car today – or my dad’s truck. I hit the tree on the top of my driveway, and, pissed off, I ended up cutting it down. There’s a huge dent and scrape on the right side of the truck. It’s bad. It’s not something that can’t be fixed with some touch-up paint, but it made me think.

No matter how hard I try to keep this truck perfect, or how much effort I put into it, it’s still going to eventually break down. I could keep this truck better than anyone has ever kept a truck, but eventually, even if it hits 400,000 miles, the engine will blow up. Or something unavoidable will happen, like I’ll get hit head-on or t-boned, and the truck will be ruined. No matter how good care you take, something’s eventually just going to break.

I’ve learned this lesson many times, like taking great care of computers and still having something fail on the motherboard. But this truck is not just a complex system; it reminds me of my dad. I want to keep it running well not just because I drive it every day, but also because it’s a reminder of him. He’d probably laugh at me for freaking out over a scratch or a dent, especially since it’s had its own history of damages. Someone keyed the left side while he had it, the door’s been dinged, it got rear-ended, and the tailgate’s scratched as fuck.

It kind of reminds me of the situation with my dad. He was like the right side of the truck panel that got beat up. Even if he had beaten cancer, it was only a matter of time before something else got him. At his funeral, I thought about my family, now mostly in their mid-70s. While I’ll always think my dad died tragically young, 66 isn’t that far from 76. My buddy Jeremy is six years older than me, and he’s nearly the same person as he was. Ten years isn’t a massive difference once you’re past childhood.

Uncle Bill is 83, and he’s great for his age. He’s still active, going to church, donating things, and driving. It’s wild to think about the age difference. Even if my dad hadn’t passed from cancer, he’d be approaching Bill’s age soon enough. Saying it like that makes it sound like a lot of time, but in 14 years, I’ll be 39, which isn’t that different from now.

Part of this mindset comes from watching “The Walking Dead” with Jeremy. While it’s a zombie apocalypse TV show, it touches on themes of death, decay, and impermanence. These are real, tangible thoughts for me. I’m pissed about damaging the truck, and I’ll get the dent pulled out and get some touch-up paint. But it serves as a reminder that, eventually, something on this truck will break. The Bravada has so many parts that are messed up that can’t be replaced anymore.

When is it time to say goodbye to the things from our past? I doubt I’ll ever love another truck as much. I like its simplicity, its analog nature. I really like Jeremy’s 2023 BRZ but just like every new car they’re all filled with garbage like a finnicky fake blinker and that dual climate control shit and it’s like, I don’t want the right side blowing AC and the left side blowing hot heater air; that doesn’t help anybody, it just makes the whole car luke warm. I’d rather just have a lukewarm temperature going on… This truck, and the Bravada too, are symbols of a time gone by. Once they’re gone, I’ve got to move on and accept the way things are. Sometimes, that’s just how you have to play it.