My husband works a manual labor job.
He supports our family by the sweat of his brow and the strength of his back, a man of permanent tan lines. He’s proud of the work he does. And I never knew I could be so proud of how hard he works for us, either.
Now let me clear a few things up, because I know you’ve already thought about them. No, he doesn’t “have” to work this job (he chose it because he loves it). And yes, he has an education (he went to school to learn his profession).
An no, we aren’t poor (he provides more than enough for our family).
Not only does he put a roof over our heads and food on the table, but he provides our children with an example of what hard work looks like; strength and perseverance, character and grit. Our kids know how hard their daddy works, they can see it on his face, touch it on his arms, and feel it in the dampness of his clothes when he walks in the door and gives hugs to his littlest fans.
And when my husband does come in the door at the end of the work day, he doesn’t loosen his tie and drop a briefcase on the floor. Instead, he lifts his ball cap, drops his water canteen, and kicks off his boots. His clothes smell of a hard days work and he smiles with a grin of exhaustion, just happy to be home. He has given everything he has to this day. Just another reason I’m so proud of him.
