Tree removal service.

“You on lunch break?” I said as I approached the man sitting at the bar. 

“Sorta. Going from one job site to another,” he replied.

“What kinda work you do?”

“I own a tree removal service.”

“Still getting your hands dirty?” I asked.

“Not as much as I’d like, actually,” he replied. “Hard to believe I miss those days the way I do.”

I wasn’t surprised. I could tell by the dirt under his fingernails and grease stains on his sweatshirt that he was the type to find peace in the brutality of the work.

Clenching his margarita glass in one hand and tapping his iphone screen with the other, he sat in silence. He’d every so often make a mistake on the game and light out a sigh or a shriek.

“I know what you mean about business ownership,” I interrupted. “It’s not always as glamorous as people might think it is.”

Of course, I don’t know that from experience. 

My dad and his business is the reference I’m using. I watched him build his business since I was a child. I was too young to contribute to the business in a formal capacity so I watched. Not that I had any choice. It was my life. 

I think my dad has enjoyed his life as a business owner. It came with so many perks that it’d be hard to imagine him saying he hasn’t. But I bet he’d be the first person to tell you that it’s not as glamorous as everyone imagines it might be.

Business ownership means that he really never gets to stop thinking about it. If there’s an emergency in the middle of the night, it means he’s getting the call. It was common for my dad to lose sleep over the thought that something tragic would happen at one of his buildings. If a fire engine happened to scream past us, there was always a possibility that it was headed to one of his buildings. This was a thought he simply couldn’t escape.

It was the reality of my family's life and so we had no choice but to live with it.

When we were young, car rides with my dad often meant me and my siblings sitting in the back seat silently while he talked on the phone about work. Weekend mornings were often spent tagging along to his office. I never minded much because that trade off in time often meant we could go and do anything we wanted afterwards. 

I also know it’d be inappropriate to magnify the negative without mentioning the plethora of positives that came from my dad’s business ownership. 

Starting with the sense of pride I felt about my dad and the business he’d built. It’s gross, I know but I’d be remiss if I didn’t admit to feeling a little better and standing a little taller than those around me because of my dad’s status as a self-made business owner. It didn’t matter what the business was, all that mattered was that my dad owned it and I knew others around me had fathers that didn’t own their own business.

It afforded my dad freedom that I knew others didn’t have.

As far as I could tell, he answered to no one but himself. And that, in and of itself, was enough for me to admire.

When other people talked about their parents having to ask their boss for time off work, I couldn’t relate. When people told me they couldn’t call their parents while they were at work, the idea was foreign to me. The access my siblings and I had to our dad was worth it’s weight in gold. 

Speaking of gold, have I mentioned how good my life was as a result of the business. Bills were paid. I had the newest clothes and the coolest sneakers all because of my dad’s business. When my family went out to eat, I never heard the word ‘no’. If it was on the menu and I wanted it, I got it. It was never a discussion. 

There are a million more reasons why my dad’s business ownership was good and these are just a few. 

And I guess when I was a kid, it was lost on me just how much my dad had to sacrifice to make sure we had everything we needed. 

The older I get, the more I realize how much my dad went through to give us all the things we wanted. 

The further removed I get from my dad’s business, the more I sympathize with the business owner sitting at the bar, seemingly with the weight of the world on his shoulders. 

Or a really heavy fucking maple tree.