A friend of mine recently wrote that a person is measured by what they do. By that, he means, what they do for a living; what their job is. That statement has been whirling around in my mind ever since I read it, and I really hope he doesn’t truly believe that.
Lately, my job has required that I travel more than usual. Not far, but if I’m sleeping anywhere other than in my own bed, I consider that traveling. My most recent work adventure found me staying overnight at the Historic Hotel Roanoke and Conference Center. Now Roanoke’s just a hop, skip, and a jump from Giles County, roughly an hour and a half drive from my house, but in other ways, it’s another world. The traffic and tall buildings scream city, but the mountains surrounding it remind me that I’m not far from home.
I’ve had to travel to Roanoke many times for work. I’ve been there to shop and to eat, and I’ve driven past it countless times, but I’d never stayed overnight. But if you’re going to stay in Roanoke, the Hotel Roanoke is the place to stay. The historic hotel was originally built in 1882 and was owned by Norfolk and Western Railroad, (later Norfolk and Southern Railroad), and is now owned by Hilton, and is a part of the DoubleTree chain of hotels.
I’ve been to the hotel for work events before, but never as a guest. I began to understand the hype as soon as I arrived, with uniformed clad employees, smiling and opening the doors for me. I checked in, and was given a warm, freshly-baked chocolate chip cookie, and told that my room was through the lobby, and up the stairs to the left, past the chandelier.
Anyone who really knows me, knows how goofy I truly am. I know it too. It’s a fact, so I try to be conscious of it. But as I walked through that lobby, and passed under the chandelier, I couldn’t help but stop and gawk. My, how it sparkled. I just stopped for a moment….I think. But I did catch myself turning in circles, inspecting the ceiling, and that impressive shiny light fixture. But I made myself stop, and move along . See, I am conscious of it.
Early the next morning, I had to make my way to the conference center. I opted to take the outside, route. Not so much because i wanted the fresh air, (it was a pretty chilly morning), but because I get lost easily inside. The hotel is pretty darned big, and I get turned around in big buildings. Hallways and doorways look the same to me. But most of the time, if I’m outside, I can find landmarks, and easily get to where I need to be. Maybe that’s a trait of growing up in the country, or maybe I just have a really bad sense of direction. I’m not really sure.
But as I make my way outside, the uniformed doormen smile as they hold the door for me, and I’ll admit that I get a kick out of it. Here I am, just a small town girl, pretending like I belong here, and I suppose I do, as much as the next person anyway. I walk along the sidewalk around the building, and see the railroad tracks, not fifty yards from the hotel. I’m a sucker for trains and railroad tracks, because they remind me of my dad.
Dad worked for the railroad for all my life. He worked as a welder, swung a sledge hammer, laid track, and I’m ashamed to say, I don’t know what all his job entailed. I do know, that he worked from daybreak till dark, wearing out his body in the process to put food on the table, and to take care of his family. When I see tracks, I think of dad’s boots. They were black as tar, covered with railroad grease, dust, and who knows what else. He’d come in from work, sit down, and take off his boots, and I’d set them behind the front door. I’d always have to wash my hands because his boots were filthy.
I couldn’t help but think that day, as I strolled along in my fancy clothes, of all the miles my dad must have walked in those boots, so that I could earn my living by staying at a fancy hotel and eating room service. But you know what? My dad couldn’t be prouder. Neither could my mom. She forbade me to write about her, but I will say that she worked just as hard. She’s worked in fast food and factories, worked shift work, just to make sure that my brothers and I had everything we needed.
I can throw my brothers in the mix too I guess. Jason worked construction, and worked in a factory before he went on to the State Police Academy. Zach made more money than a lot of college graduates when he was shoveling coal, breathing in coal dust in a local factory. But now, he’s a poor college student, just a year shy of graduating with his BA. I spent many years of my life working in fast food and in factories too, when i was earning my degree.
I guess my point is, what you do doesn’t matter. Just do your best at it. When you come from a small town like I do, most all of us have spent our time working in jobs that others might not think are important. But they all are, because they’re providing for you and your family. I know for a fact, that i couldn’t love my family anymore than I do now, no matter what they did for a living. I’m so very proud of Jason for becoming a Virginia State Policeman, and of Zach, for going back to school to earn his degree, but I can honestly say, that I’d be just as proud to have them as brothers if they were doing something else.
And I’m proud of myself, for any accomplishments that I’ve made, but I know that I had a lot of support. My mom and dad worked very hard to make sure that I had opportunities that they didn’t have. I can honestly say that I’ve never measured anyone by what they do. What’s important is how they treat the ones they love and the ones who love them. That’s how a person is measured.