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Work Is a Blessing

I grew up in Lakeland, Louisiana, one of 12 children. We all lived on my parents' subsistence farm. We grew cotton, sugar cane, corn, hogs, chickens and had a large garden, but it didn't bring in much cash. So when I was 12, I got a part-time job on a dairy farm down the road, helping to milk cows. We milked 65 cows at 5 in the morning, and again at 2 in the afternoon, seven days a week.

In the kitchen one Saturday before daylight, I riiber complaining to my father and grandfather about having to go milk those cows. My father said, "Ya know, boy, to work is a blessing."

I looked at those two men who'd worked harder than I ever had - my father eking out a living on that farm, and my grandfather farming and working as a carpenter during the Depression. I had a feeling I had been told something really important, but it took many years before it sank in.

Going to college was a rare privilege for a kid from Lakeland, Louisiana. My father told me if I picked something to study that I liked doing, I'd always look forward to my work. But he also added, "Even having a job you hate is better than not having a job at all." I wanted to be a farmer, but I joined the ROTC program to help pay for college. And what started out as an obligation to the Army became a way of life that I stayed committed to for 37 years, three months and three days.

In the late 1980s, during a visit to Bangladesh, I saw a woman with her baby on her back, breaking bricks with a hammer. I asked a Bangladesh military escort why they weren't using a machine, which would have been a lot easier. He told me

a machine would put that lady out of work. Breaking those bricks meant she'd earn enough money to feed herself and her baby that day. And as bad as that woman's job was, it was enough to keep a small family alive. It reminded me of my father's words: to work is a blessing.

Serving in the United States Army overseas, I saw a lot of people like that woman in Bangladesh. And I've come to believe that people without jobs are not free. They're victims of crime, the ideology of terrorism, poor health, depression and social unrest. These victims become the illegal immigrants, the slaves of human trafficking, the drug dealers, and the street gang members. I've seen it over and over again on the U.S. border, in Somalia, the Congo, Afghanistan and in New Orleans. People who have jobs can have a home, send their kids to school, develop a sense of pride, contribute to the good of the community and even help others. When we can work, we are free. We are blessed.

I don't think I'll ever quit working. I'm retired from the Army, but I'm still working to help people be prepared for disasters. And I may get to do a little farming someday, too. I'm not going to stop. I believe in my father's words. I believe in the blessing of work.

参考翻译：

工作是福

工作是种福气我在路易斯安那州的莱克兰长大,是家里12个孩子之一。我们所有人都依赖父母自给自足的农场过活。

我们种棉花、甘蔗、玉米,养猪、养鸡,还有一个大花园，但农场并不能给让我们带来多少收入,所以当我12岁时，在马路前面不远的一个奶牛场里找了一份兼职工作，帮忙挤牛奶。我们要在早晨5点钟为65头奶牛挤奶，下午2点钟还要挤一次,一周七天不休息。

在一个周六的黎明之前，我记得我在厨房里跟父亲和爷爷抱怨自己一大早还要去给那些奶牛挤奶，我父亲说:“儿子,你要知道，能工作是种福气啊。”

我看着这两个男人，知道他们比我有生以来工作得要更努力——父亲靠那个农场养家糊口，而爷爷在大萧条期间既做农活又当木匠。我那时有种感觉，父亲跟我说了一些非常重要的东西,但许多年后我才真正理解其中的含义。

对于莱克兰的孩子来说，上大学是种少有的特权。父亲告诉我，如果我学了自己喜欢做的事情，我便会一直期待找到适合自己的工作。但他补充道:“就算从事了自己不喜欢的工作，那也比什么工作都没有要好。”我当时想务农,但为了支付大学的学费，我参加了预备军官训练项目。当初的义务从军便成为了我以后的生活方式，我在部队服役长达37年3个月零3天。

20世纪80年代晚期,在一次出访孟加拉国期间，我看到一个背着孩子的妇女,正在用锤子将砖头敲碎。

我问孟加拉军队的一名护卫队员为什么他们不用机器，因为那样会容易很多。他跟我说，如果用机器，那个女人便会丢掉工作。而将那些砖头敲碎意味着她能赚到足够的钱让她和她的孩子在那天吃饱。虽然她的工作实在很糟糕，但那却足够养活一个小家庭。这件事让我想起了父亲的话:工作是种福气。

在驻外的美军部队服役时，我看到许多人都和那个孟加拉妇女一样，于是我开始相信，没有工作的人是不自由的。他们遭受着犯罪、恐怖主义、疾病、经济萧条和社会动荡的侵害。于是这些受害者变成了非法移民，沦为人口买卖、贩毒交易和街头帮派的囚奴。这种景象我在美国边境，索马里,刚果,阿富汗和新奥尔良一次又一次地目睹过。有工作的人可以建立家庭，将孩子送到学校上学，内心树立起一种自豪感，增加对社区的积极影响,甚至去帮助他人。当我们有事可做时，我们身心自由，身处幸福之中。

我觉得我不会停止工作。如今我已从军队退役，但我仍在致力于帮助人们在灾害来临前做好准备。可能哪天我也要去做点儿农活。但我不会停下来的。我相信父亲的话，我相信工作是有益之事。