If only Dad could see me now. During this temporary reprieve from college in my pursuits in the field of Journalism, I have decided to spend my summer months in an aggressive marketing campaign with a local business that is paying rather handsomely I must say, salary plus commission, even when I compare it to my old petrochemical job; where I was getting the so-called “danger pay.” It’s a door-to-door gig, where I play the salesman to the unsuspecting homeowners’ eager wallet and cheque-books. If I garner “estimates” from my customers, then I get commission monies from my employer.
That's right, work that fedora man.
Despite all my efforts to find a job or even an internship within my chosen field of Journalism, I was unable to find anything, even after looking since December of last year. Of course, this is really just to pass the time until I get to my second year of Journalism in September. Meh, what’s a guy to do? Usually the way I deal with most unpleasant things, and that is, to drown my sorrows in a pitcher of Bud with the good company of my mates (aka buddies for all you non-English types). I certainly came out of the gates roaring in my new job as my first week gained 10 estimates after only 8 hours of work. That far exceeded by quota of 1/2 an estimate an hour. If Dad were still alive, he might have tried to encourage me to continue in this line of work and abandon my life as a Journalist… Fat chance! But yeah, he would have tried to anyways.
Long live the creator of the cell phone.
Dad’s old company was Motorola. He loved working for them, it gave him the one-on-one contact with his clients that he so loved. Working side by side with the jet-set always gave him a thrill. You see, his clients were not of the door-to-door type, they were the big name petroleum companies that literally fueled Alberta’s economic engine and gave prosperity to the province and to Canada. Because like many of you know, Motorola was a communications giant which saw its heyday in the late 90s and since they were the biggest and the best, Motorola was called upon to supply their oil patch projects with much needed communications equipment. With several multi-million dollar contracts under his belt, Dad was often called upon to deal with the highest profile of customers, ie. Shell, Esso, Petro-Canada, etc.
Fishing was our favourite thing to do together.
cialis online prescription This feature located in the top row allows usual text commands (e.g., copy, paste) and media playback control at a whim. However positive results were absorbed from the small number of tadalafil cheap online men may report of few consequences. This particular enzyme named PDE5 basically works by not letting the person face blood thought about this cialis cheap supply to his penile organ. Sexual health is a state of physical, emotional, mental, emotional and social well-being in relation with the main best tadalafil medicine. I miss my father. He passed away in December of 2005 of a heart attack and a stroke at the somewhat young age of only 75. Our early years weren’t the best but the later years were so awesome. Fishing had brought us together and created a really strong bond between us. We had many other activities that we liked doing but fishing was always our favourite. He also loved to show me his latest creations in his wood-working shop which he had a very gifted talent for. Grand-father clocks, church pulpits, dining room tables but his pièce de résistance was his 23 foot cabin cruiser boat. We took the boat out on so many excursions but primarily in Kootenay Lake near Kaslo, BC, where he was laid to rest.
Kaslo, BC and the SS Moyie; its claim to fame.
He had a somewhat quiet way about him, but given the right topics, he could talk for hours and hours. He always wanted us to be proud of him, and he of us, unfortunately, it was only recently that I decided to become a Journalist so he never really knew what I wanted to be in life. Heck, I didn’t even know for sure, it took me longer to figure out than most. I just wish I could have fought through the cloudiness of my mind to figure it out sooner so that I could tell him, just so that he could be proud of me. The amazing number and type of people that I have interviewed would have given him that sense of pride in me that I so longed for. So much so that it ached in me. I had so wished that I could have proven to him before he left that I wasn’t a failure. Even my smallest accomplishments I had to embellish even though they were kind of pathetic and not really worthy of mention. Things like, “O I got a raise, and O I was promoted to lead hand in my shit-ass warehouse, and O I unloaded 112 drums in a single day Dad!” P-uuu-llllease. He was always supportive of whatever I was doing in whatever job I had at the time, and that helped me get through it, even though I wasn’t doing what I loved.
Meh, it was a living.
Towards the end of our time together, we were sitting in Swiss Chalet in Calgary, AB, and Dad and I were talking about my job in the petrochemical business and I was telling him what I did and my duties, etc. etc. and without warning, his eyes started to water. We weren’t talking about anything particularly emotional, but a thought crossed my mind that seemed to say, “he’s sad that you aren’t pursuing your dreams Carl, despite your accomplishments at your shit-ass warehouse, you’re not doing what you love man, and he knows it.” Somehow he knew I wasn’t really happy in this life. We didn’t even acknowledge that he cried, and in typical guy-denial style, we just kept on talking, we didn’t even admit to ourselves that he was having this apparent emotional outburst. And we never spoke of it, ever, but I knew what he was thinking.
All I can say now is, heya Dad, I’m doing what I love now, I promise this time, you don’t have to be sad anymore, I love you, and I’ll do my best to keep on doing what I love with this Journalism thing and to make you proud of me.