Construction. What others think when they ask what is the definition of hard work. Unfortunately, that is just my life. After six years in school and helping my dad every free day in construction I finally graduated high school.
I might not have friends... or a social life at all... BUT! Now that I can escape this place I know I can do great! I have a few grand from the last few years when I was actually being paid. Although I can't get back what my parents took from me during my younger years, but I know, now that I can go to college I can escape this place. I won't have to work a hard job anymore! I can enjoy life! Maybe go to a party for once!
Only need to wait two months... Two months until I can leave. After that I don't care what happens!
"Ivan since you are going to college soon I will pay you 22 an hour instead of the 16 from before. I hope you come home to help me out when you have breaks." My Father spoke with a smile.
I had enough knowledge that I could go and apply at another construction site and earn 24 an hour no problem, but I knew that this was going to be the LAST time I work in construction.
With dead eyes, I looked at my Father with a smile and spoke, "Thank you."
My Father sighed as he asked, "Why don't you talk more? You should talk more get to know more people. This is why you don't have friends."
I stayed silent as I showed my signature smile saying nothing. After so long he was used to this behavior and let me go. I was eighteen but still felt like I was that same twelve year old boy who was being forced to work.
And so the day went on I worked and worked and worked... Same thing day after day... Trapped in the same cycle... over... and over... and over again...
***
It is time for the first time in so many years I am showing a smile of true excitement! The college I chose is one that is a six hour drive from my home with no air trips unless you want to pay for an expensive helicopter ride. It is in the middle of the mountains and a place where I can truly escape.
While my parents were on the verge of tears at me leaving and repeatedly asking if I wanted to go somewhere closer. I simply hurried up packing what little I had in my room. I was lucky that my parents cared a lot about school.
I got my own little truck that they at first wanted to keep for themselves before eventually gifting it to me because they felt it would be right for me to have a way to get to school. They also got me an ok laptop to do homework with.
Now in the back of this small truck, I had my five boxes with my whole life in them. One box has all my clothes and sweaters. One box has my blanket. Another contained a bunch of tools I was stealing from my Father. One is the food I bought in bulk, like cans and spices. The last box had any miscellaneous stuff such as my phone charger and laptop and the only other pair of shoes I owned, paper and school supplies.
Despite these boxes containing EVERYthing I owned, it took up barely more space than the only other thing in the back of my truck. My bike. It was the one thing I truly liked.
When I was thirteen my dad gave me a hundred bucks for my whole two summers of work. I had saved up twenty dollars by collecting coins from the ground over the years. So with all that money, I bought the bike I really liked. I even made sure it was extra big for me so when I was older I could still use it. Even though it was rusty in some places from lack of use since I rarely had enough energy to ride it, it was still my favorite possession.
Thinking of this it reminded me of when my parents told me throughout four years of working they would save all my money for me and I would get it back when I was older. So after that year, they would give me 100 bucks for every summer month. I saved the money until I was sixteen and convinced my parents to open a bank account that I could access.
After that, I convinced them to put me in their payroll with the other employees with the logic that I needed to understand how it worked. Only then did I earn 12 an hour for a year and truly have money. As for the money they were supposedly saving for me? They spent it and then a month after that they told me after I asked, "Oh, we were going through a rough time and had to use that money to help your uncle."
At seventeen they realized I was actually aging and would enter college soon so they paid me 16 an hour which was at least a decent price for what I was doing at that time. Granted I could earn 18 an hour if I looked for work elsewhere based on my skills at that time.
Yeah... I won't miss this place.
I put away my excited smile from when I was packing and looked at my parents with the one smile I always showed them. Dead eyes and a wide friendly smile. "Goodbye." Giving them a hug I started my car and started driving.
I was playing MY music. For most of my life, I had no opinion on music since no matter what I listened to it was always going to be the music of others who were driving me. My sister unlike me was not forced to go to work because she was a woman. So she made friends and developed her own taste in music.
She knew how terrible our parents were so when she got that chance she forced me to download an app to play music and simply try to find what I liked. Of course, she insisted I try her music as well. When I got my truck and was able to play my music of choice I felt like I gained a bit of freedom.
Slowly I developed my own personal taste in music. I knew if it was before my sister helped me I would have just blasted any radio music to distract myself. Now I slightly enjoyed the ride.
I knew I hated the act of driving, but loved the freedom that came with it. Now with my music playing, I could enjoy the drive a little more. With six hours ahead of me, I knew I couldn't wait to get to my new apartment. Sign the lease and live without the worries of my parents.