No, I'm not about to make a comparison between the suffering of the worker and the suffering of the mother.
I really enjoy reading, and re-reading Matthew Crawford's Shopclass as Soulcraft. However, like most writing regaling the virtues of the common worker, or the romance of the farmer working the land. It is written by as man who is primarily a Philosophy Fellow at a Universty, or a writer with a home farm etc. The points they make are valid, provocative, and interesting. However there are a couple of key things missing.
First, the gentleman farmer, cabinet maker, or motorcycle, or auto repair shop owner is not only a tradesman, but a businessman. Someone with sensibilities that far surpass the turning of soil or wrenches. Someone, who could probably, from that position explain a thing or two not only to a shop class, but a business, accounting, economics, or psychology class for that matter.
Second, as the gentleman--whatever etc etc, there is a certain implication of another form of income. This seems to insulate them from the pains of the laborer. Or at least they don't comment on it. This is the omision that interests me. I am by no means a carpenter. I work in construction, but I'm as likely to have a drafting pencil, or a telephone in my hand than a hammer. Still the economic environment, and my willingness have conspired to put me in a position of the sledge hammerer, or the concrete sawyer as often as not. And I'm building my own home on nights and weekends.
The observation that I want to add, besides good work being a framework for a good life is that hard work hurts. From the incidental abrasion, to the run-in with the router, to the nagging tennis elbow. Work hurts. I'm 31, my kid brother is 24 and we share the sensation of numb forearms and fingers in our sleep.
The work is satisfying. It's rewarding. Building homes, or boats in my brother's case, is fascinating at times, and at least not borring at others. It fascilitates critical thought, and independence. It also destroys the human body. I love to write, play the guitar, and ride my motorcycle. For each of these I need strong, feeling hands. I have to build houses to pay the bills. I hope one of the hobbies starts to pay off soon.
Since I'm fortunate enough to split my time at work between management, and labor, I can probably make the good times last. But I, like those in more labor intensive careers will have to recon with reality one day. Bodies are like the things we build and service. They wear out. Maintenance,and caution are important, but on a long enough timeline all machines fail. That could not be clearer than to one who builds or repairs things.
The tingling, the numbness, the pain--they become familiar, like close associates, in some way. But deep down we all know, one day it will just hurt too much to continue. That is a sobering thought.
