As I was walking to work this morning, I passed the same landscape workers, restaurant employees, nannies, maids, and construction workers that I pass every morning. Some I greet; others don’t make eye contact. As I entered town, I passed by a worker collecting money from the parking meters. He was an older man (but what is older? I’m older; this man was probably not more than 10 years older than I ), and he was pushing his “money holder thingie on wheels” and he looked at me, smiled, and said “Good morning.” He looked like a really nice man.
I was reminded of my father for some reason. This man didn’t look like my father, and my father didn’t collect money from parking meters for a living. He was a letter carrier (i.e., a mailman). Anyway, as I passed this man, I thought about my father getting up every morning while it was still dark to get ready to go to the post office to collect the mail for his route, and I wondered about the word “professional” as it relates to what we do for a living.
Aren’t these people, these people who show up for work EVERY day to do the jobs some of us wouldn’t consider doing, professionals?
But, when I looked up the definition of “professional” –
- engaged in a profession or engaging in as a profession or means of livelihood; “the professional man or woman possesses distinctive qualifications …
- a person engaged in one of the learned professions
- an athlete who plays for pay
- engaged in by members of a profession; “professional occupations include medicine and the law and teaching”
- master: an authority qualified to teach apprentices
(Source: http://wordnet.princeton.edu/perl/webwn)
Based on these definitions, I see that people who have jobs like the man this morning or my father aren’t professionals. I understand the distinction, really I do. I chose to go to graduate school and get my single master’s degree. Some of the people I see every day may not even have high school degrees — I don’t know.
On the other hand, some of them, like my father, may also be college graduates. Some, like my father, may have had dreams and hopes of being a “professional” and doing something more with their lives. Some, like my father, may have chosen not to compromise certain personal principles and, as a result, ended up doing something else.
I never knew the full story (my younger sister is the “keeper of the family history”) but I do know that my father graduated from college with a degree in education and that he wanted to be a teacher. The part I’m fuzzy about is why he didn’t become one (something to do with a shady superindendent and a not-so racially harmonious time period).
So, my father, with a family to support, took the civil service exam, became a letter carrier, and to the best of my knowledge (and I say this because he never really talked about it but I’m sure he thought about his lost dreams often) never looked back.
Was he not a professional? He shined his shoes every night, made sure his uniform was clean and pressed, and showed up for work, even when he was sick. When he retired from the postal service, he had accumulated two years’ worth of sick time. Not too shabby for 35 years of service.
But in society’s eyes, he wasn’t a professional. The fact that he received commendation after commendation for safe driving doesn’t matter. The fact that he demonstrated to his children that it didn’t matter WHAT one did for a living as long as one did it WELL: “If you are going to be a garbage collector, be the best garbage collector that you can.” And don’t get me started on the fact that he actually worked two jobs for as long as I can remember - it’s expensive to raise four children. After getting off work from the post office, he’d go to his evening job of cleaning office buildings. Yes, CLEANING office buildings. Toilets, floors…you name it.
I’ve been feeling depressed and sorry for myself lately because I’ve painted myself into a corner with the ridiculous amount of work I have to do and the fact that I’m not doing any of it well or on time because I’m over-extended. Yes, I’ve learned my lesson, but it doesn’t feel good. Plus, I fret about the fact that everyone I know is going back to school to work on doctorate degrees. I can’t even think of a good research topic.
Now I’m rambling.
I guess the point I wanted to make is that in my mind “professional” is more of an attitude about one’s work rather than the work itself. Not all letter carriers are professional. Some lose mail, steal it, or pack it away in their car trunks or basements for years.
But my father was a professional.
You rocked, Daddy.
