Tracy Rehberg, Contributing Editor

Better Keep Working

I phoned my dad on his birthday. He wasn’t available that morning, or that afternoon, or that evening. I finally caught up with him around 10 p.m. He was welding a branding iron he needed for a shipment of cattle that was coming at midnight. He’d had a happy birthday. I finished our conversation and smiled because I knew that, in all the world, no one else was doing what my dad was doing on his birthday. Moments like that fill me with warm-standing memories and summon me to stop, if only for a moment, to admire my roots.

I wonder sometimes, after being away from the Nebraska Sandhills for the better part of 15 years, how deep those roots still go and how far they can extend. I wonder most often on the days when my 11-year-old sulks if I ask him to take out the trash, or my seven-year-old cries because she can’t possibly pick up the same mess it took her five minutes to construct. I wonder if they’ll ever come close to understanding the work ethic that’s spun from a life spent with cattle. Can they ever know the level of responsibility that comes from shepherding so many lives against the elements of each unforgiving season on the Plains? On most days, I don’t see how that’s possible. But there are moments when I catch a glimpse of these roots, my roots, extending to them.

My grandfather, Roy, like so many Depression-era Plainsmen, had a work ethic as stalwart and stubborn as the horse teams he used to plow. I had the privilege to grow up next door to him on the family ranch. My son didn’t have the opportunity to know him well, but is somewhat conscious of the stories we share. At least that’s what I recently realized when my son asked if we could buy a lottery ticket. Being my pragmatic self, I explained that we had a better chance of being struck by lightening than winning the lottery.

I sensed his annoyance.

To redirect his mood, I shared that Grandpa Roy had been hit by lightening twice. “Wow! What did he do?” Aaron exclaimed.

To my surprise, he answered his own question – partly in jest and wholly derived from context: “Oh, never mind, Mom. Grandpa would have said, ‘Oh, uh, that sure was hot. Guess I better keep working.’”

He’s right.

I conclude that roots nourished in soil so rich can extend much further than we think. At least I hope they will. Psychologists maintain that children derive significant behavioral cues from the context of retold family experiences. That’s certainly fortunate.

Thanks to our Protestant/Puritan foundation, Americans are still credited with having the hardest working labor force in the world. U.S. workers average nearly 2,000 hours of work each year, which is essentially a 40-hour workweek all but two weeks out of the year. This equates to ten more weeks of work than Europeans. Still, it’s almost shameful when you contrast that to U.S. cattlemen who easily clock 3,600 hours a year, assuming 12-hour days, some rest on Sunday and a couple weeks of leisure squeezed in here and there.

What can this example bring to those close enough to draw from it? Possibly a lot as more than 60 million baby boomers move to retire at the end of this decade and young adults who comprise Generation Y are expected to take their place. Gen Ys – born between 1977 and 1995 – began to turn 30 this year. They’ve also just begun to turn the American workplace inside out with their mantra of work-life balance that places the pursuit of passion far above the pursuit of career. This generation, easily distracted, functioning with support of their boomer parents, and more than willing to quit a job, presents a quandary for business.

In many regards, Gen Y is smarter than any of the predecessors, coming from an age of instant Internet, cell phone and text message gratification. On the other hand, they’re raised to believe they can be anything they want to be, so the gap between their expectations and reality is immense.

As this work force is called upon to grow up and get productive, we probably shouldn’t worry. The future of American productivity is a long-standing concern that tends to remedy itself. The World War II generation was convinced our nation would fall into a dreadful state once its baby boomers took the reigns. It didn’t.

My generation, Gen X, worried its elders, too. A popular parenting book, Children at Work published in 1979, stated, “In conclusion, we would like Ù simply to reiterate our early statement that children do evidence some aspects of the Protestant ethic, but fall considerably short of the ideal-typical form of embracement of it.”

Ideal form aside, Gen X proved to be an intense, skilled and money-obsessed workforce, actually clocking an average of one more month of work per year than in the 1970s. The perceived downfall, of course, is that Gen X parents feel guilty for working so much and, therefore, raise coddled children who can do no wrong at school or in life. Here’s an indicative trend: Research reveals that native U.S. schoolchildren believe it takes a good teacher to perform well in school; meanwhile, foreign U.S. schoolchildren believe it takes studying hard to perform. Accountability, dismissed.

Enter my children. I don’t want to be another overly indulgent Gen X parent and I’m stricter than most, but the style and expectation is prevalent. I find it difficult to refrain from spoiling them when we spend time together – even when they huff and puff at the prospect of doing their chores.

Even in suburbia, I like to think my roots will eventually touch the lives of my children and give them some type of fortitude that would otherwise be distant and unfamiliar. My experience continues to make all the difference to me, and it’s one I gladly share.