I always thought my father was crazy. You see, he had this strange notion running through his head that I must be different from all the other kids and, in a way, I was. I was different because of him, because of who he was. In all the towns and boroughs I’ve lived in he has been the power, the central focus. Because of this, everyone knew of me or had heard of me through him. Granted, this is the usual train of events until a child grows old enough to make a name for themselves yet in Camp Hill, I never could grow and make a name for myself. I was always living under his shadow, what he’d done and what he was doing now. It was always “Hey, your Ed Knittel’s boy aren’t ya?” Not, “Hey, your Chris Knittel right?” This is extremely stifling to a kid; you can’t truly grow up and find yourself living under that kind of a shadow. I couldn’t go out and have fun, take chances, be stupid, and learn to grow like everyone else. I had to find other ways and generally, I failed miserably.
Once I moved away to college, I finally found my venue. I could begin making a name for myself in a place completely unassociated with my parents. Finally things started happening not because of my father and his name, but because of what I was doing. I got into Drexel based upon my abilities. I got my co-op based upon my abilities and I got my job at Staples, based upon my abilities but he still had his influence.
Remember how I said my father wanted me to be different from all the other kids, better in some respects? Well, he always drove me to do things differently, to see with different eyes. Because of this, he’d always set me up with some really odd jobs. At age twelve I was doing construction full time with a crew during the summer. Age thirteen I started mowing yards and didn’t stop till I went to college. During that time I worked at the school, the borough offices, and even at car washes. Almost always doing cheap, menial labor which was of the most back breaking sort; I hated every minute of it. Now, after working these past few months at Staples, I finally see the wisdom in my father’s stance.
Every job I’ve worked as brought a new understanding about myself and my capabilities. I’ve learned patience, responsibility, new skills and talents, and how to deal with people. The last is the most important, the critical part. Yes, I’ve learned how to deal with people in a professional setting, as business partners and in the seller-to-buyer model and that’s a great asset but I’ve learned more. I’ve learned how to deal with people on an individual basis, as people. One could almost say, I’ve learned respect. After working some of the worst jobs you can find out there (granted I could have stopped and said hey Im done at any point) I can understand and respect each new job I have. I can thank god that I have what I have and whats more, I can respect the people working at say Walmart or McDonalds. Before, I looked down on them, felt they were beneath my level. After working at Staples for the past three months, I see that it’s the common outlook. People think that service people are beneath their level, and its sickening. Maybe more parents should be like my father but I know they never will be. Its too hard on the kids, too difficult to get through but we do have a name for the people who come into a store and treat people like shit: cows. You see, we used to say peasants but that was too good. A peasant could pick up after themselves and treat others with respect. A cow will never pick up after itself, is dirty, smelly, and stupid. It has no respect, no intelligence and will never, ever amount to anything. Yet it always holds its nose up at you, always is above the rest. Yes, the vast majority of people in this world are cows. I weep for us, don’t you?