At
the bus stop, cold and snowy Kansas City
winter’s
morning, 5:30 AM, twenty-years old,
nearly
legal at twenty-one, another day has
begun.
Wife and child sleeping snugly at home.
I
am on my way to work. Two transfers, one at
Main
Street, the second at 18th. The sleepy
eyed
city for me is awakening with a grinding
groan,
and a frozen yawn before the dawn. Must
clock-in
at the factory on time 7:30 AM for my
shift
to begin. This is my first job after three
years
service in the Army, and I try to be positive
by
distracting my thoughts away from the years
of
work ahead of me. In my mind, I have hopes
and
dreams. I often question myself about where
all
of this leads. And given the unfolding mystery
I
imagine how things ought to be. For today, how-
ever,
I labor for pay, and tomorrow likely, more of
the
same. Ah, but for now, cold and dreary, and
who
can say what lies ahead? I have some gran-
diose
ideas to overcome the routine and mundane.
And
then there are the dreams. Oh the dreams, so
filled
with hope. How fanciful and vivid the dreams
on
how things could, should and ought to be. And
then
7:30 AM, not a minute before or after, I clock
in.
Fifty-two years ago now, and I am where I am,
past
the dreams of yesterday. For better and worse,
I
am what I have become. How clearly I remember.
-30-
Chris
Hanch 1-14-2020
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