When I was seven, and with no prior warning, Hal suddenly decided to start recycling aluminum cans. This eco-friendly decision did not necessarily make Hal unique, but the way in which he went about doing it certainly did.
Hal recognized that recycling was going on, that anyone could do it, and that, potentially, you could make a couple bucks doing it.
Hal began making contacts throughout the South King County area and securing agreements with said contacts to collect their empty aluminum cans on a regular basis. To augment this bottomless supply of cans, he would constantly (and to our great annoyance) pull off to the side of the road whenever he saw even a solitary can laying along the shoulder.
Not a joke.
Gathering the cans was just the first step, however.
Once the cans were finally brought home the biggest part of the process finally got underway.
Hal specified that each aluminum needed to be crushed via a hand-operated crank or a sledgehammer, and then bagged in monstrous garbage liners.
This was obviously the most labor intensive part of the process and, as luck would have it, included only Jake and me.
We were instructed that all of this can crushing was to be done promptly after our arrival home from school (or during all daylight hours in the summer) before we could start frittering away our time by being happy.
I can still remember Hal saying to us, "You act like this is a prison sentence--I don't think you'll ever do this for much more than three hours a day. On the weekdays. Why are you guys so mad?"
While Hal was conveniently tucked away at work and far removed from all the can crushing, The Beast would sequester herself in the living room and patiently wait for reruns of Quantum Leap (which, at that point, were still five years away).
For the half dozen years it lasted, Hal never provided very convincing reasons for why Jake and I had to do it.
He would, with regularity, rattle off a very shaky story about this being a chance to learn about hard work and how this would be a money-making opportunity that any two kids on the planet would die for.
That fact that justice does in fact exist in the universe was manifested when the scrap yard Hal would use to redeem these cans suddenly burnt to the ground. I say "suddenly" because it was leveled by flames in between two of our visits on the same day.
How can an industrial complex filled with acres of metal and constructed solely of concrete be reduced to rubble via fire? After some reflection, Jake and I concluded it could only be an act of God.
In Hal's mind, this whole can operation was something which we were actually quite enthusiastic about, but we kept our excitement from showing because we were trying to look cool.
To maintain our excitement, Hal did what he could to provide positive motivation.
On numerous occasions--and with no intended sarcasm--Hal would call home from work and tell Jake and me that he had "a big, big surprise" for us. Each time we heard this, we would spend the rest of the afternoon bouncing off the walls and trying to guess what it was bringing. A dog? New bikes? A Toys 'R' Us shopping spree? Our imaginations, as per usual, knew no bounds. We even crushed extra cans in hope of tipping a little extra karma our way.
After hours of breathless anticipation, Hal would arrive home and lead us outside to see the surprise: An unusually large bag of cans. He couldn't fathom why we would suddenly become so upset.
Our heartbreak was partially our own fault. We had forgotten that this had been the "big surprise" each of the last 14 times such a treasure was promised. Each time, as we stood there looking at a bag of cans the size of an obese yak, we would feel a sudden surge of rage unknown to children outside of Third World countries.
The only pile of wrenches in the simple gears of this plan (aside from the incineration of his primary scrap yard) was the remarkably low prices scrap aluminum could fetch in the late 80s and early 90s.
When the cost of the gas necessary to collect all these cans was taken into account, Hal must have been losing money on this venture.
As a mathematician, Hal had to have known this. In the back of his head, I think, he felt that it was money well spent--a chance to teach a fatherly lesson about hard work to his slothful, eccentric sons.
The result?
Jake and I both left home after high school and pursued college degrees and professions that do not involve an iota of physical labor.
And, to this day, neither of us can look at a carbonated beverage with getting angry.
In Hal's mind, this whole can operation was something which we were actually quite enthusiastic about, but we kept our excitement from showing because we were trying to look cool.
To maintain our excitement, Hal did what he could to provide positive motivation.
On numerous occasions--and with no intended sarcasm--Hal would call home from work and tell Jake and me that he had "a big, big surprise" for us. Each time we heard this, we would spend the rest of the afternoon bouncing off the walls and trying to guess what it was bringing. A dog? New bikes? A Toys 'R' Us shopping spree? Our imaginations, as per usual, knew no bounds. We even crushed extra cans in hope of tipping a little extra karma our way.
After hours of breathless anticipation, Hal would arrive home and lead us outside to see the surprise: An unusually large bag of cans. He couldn't fathom why we would suddenly become so upset.
Our heartbreak was partially our own fault. We had forgotten that this had been the "big surprise" each of the last 14 times such a treasure was promised. Each time, as we stood there looking at a bag of cans the size of an obese yak, we would feel a sudden surge of rage unknown to children outside of Third World countries.
The only pile of wrenches in the simple gears of this plan (aside from the incineration of his primary scrap yard) was the remarkably low prices scrap aluminum could fetch in the late 80s and early 90s.
When the cost of the gas necessary to collect all these cans was taken into account, Hal must have been losing money on this venture.
As a mathematician, Hal had to have known this. In the back of his head, I think, he felt that it was money well spent--a chance to teach a fatherly lesson about hard work to his slothful, eccentric sons.
The result?
Jake and I both left home after high school and pursued college degrees and professions that do not involve an iota of physical labor.
And, to this day, neither of us can look at a carbonated beverage with getting angry.
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For further information on the subject, check this previous post: CANS
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