Hard work isn’t always my favorite thing. Honestly, it’s a lot easier to put things off. But the problem with that is the work still has to get done—and now there’s less time, and usually more of it piled up.
The hardest working person I’ve ever known was my stepfather. When Mom married him, it was a culture shock for my brother and me. It’s not that my Dad was lazy, but I don’t think much had been required of us before we went to live in Pennsylvania. Suddenly there were chores and expectations—requirements, really. And when we moved to Florida and lived on a farm, the chores got even more intense. Horses don’t clean their own stalls, and cows don’t round themselves up.
At the time, I probably didn’t think much about the value of that work. But looking back, I can see the pride in it. There was a real sense of satisfaction when my stepdad noticed we’d done something right—when the yard was perfectly mown, or when we played our part in the round-up and got it right. The attaboys were rare, which made them mean more when they came.
That same kind of fulfillment shows up in my life today. As a teacher, there’s nothing easy about hours of planning, grading, or nudging reluctant students forward. But when I see a breakthrough—when a kid finally “gets it” after struggling—that’s worth every ounce of effort. And officiating football works the same way: staying sharp every play, hustling to the right spot, making the call with confidence. Walking off the field after giving the game everything I had carries its own kind of quiet pride.
For me, hard work is fulfilling because it proves something to myself: that I didn’t give up, didn’t take the shortcut, didn’t just settle for convenience. It’s not always fun in the moment, but it leaves me with a deep satisfaction that nothing else can match.
Copyright © 2025 Doug DeBolt.
