Memories from my childhood

When I was a young teenager, my Father started a new business adventure. He had gone to an Agricultural school for four years in the Netherlands. So, he had a lot of agricultural experience. However, at this time, he was a police officer, not a farmer.

So, he had to choose a part of the agricultural field which he could do part-time without having to put down a considerable amount of money. So, being a beekeeper would be the cheapest way to be a farmer.

I was the first volunteer employee of my father’s new agricultural company. I was not on the payroll. I was a teenager working for my Father’s new company for no wage.

I was a kid who had no idea about money. I had a bank account with a few dollars in it. I was not good at knowing how to keep a job or how to keep track of money Of any kind.

My father bought me a kid's size beekeeper outfit with everything I needed to be a beekeeper's helper. My father must had sold me on the idea of working with him as he set up the bee hives on the different places where Dad kept his bees. Different farmers donated certain areas by their fields for Father to set up his bee hives. The benefit of having the bees near to their fields was that the Bees would pollinate their plants which were in their fields.

My memories of this Time seems to Be very faint. I remember travelling with Father in the truck with a trailer he pulled with. As we pulled into the field where my Father's hives were located; I could hear the buzz of those honey bees from a distance. At the time, I thought that the beekeeper's suite would protect me from the sting of those bees. Nevertheless, there were times when some of the stingers got through my protection. Now, that was not very comfortable for me As a child.

One incident stands out as I think back on my short beekeeping career, which was unpaid, which made it more of a volunteer position. If I had a choice to join or not, for some reason, I could not remember.

I remember one of my Father’s bees getting tangled in my hair which resulted in getting my head shot with bee poison which sure made me get one colossal headache. The pain was so huge that words could not describe my suffering for the next hour or so. To be called a sissy by my father, who could not understand why I got so excited and angry about the situation.

Then there was the time when Father was going back to one of the old houses to take the stairwell out of that house for the upstairs he was building in our home. I told my father that the huge rut that he was going to take the truck and trailer through would result in it getting stuck. My father did not believe me until the truck and trailer sank into the mud hole. That was a little satisfying to hear the words, “I was wrong.” Those words did not cross my father's lips very often.

Then there was the time the bees got so angry and started to chase my father. It might have been because he had mowed around the hives after I warned him that this would make them so angry. There was no saying that I was wrong, but a complaint that I drove away from him too fast. I might have gone too quickly because I was scared of those bees.

Then after a while, I found exploring the old house much safer than getting those bees so angry. Now, I do feel so bad because I do realize that all he wanted to do was to spend some time with me.

There was no money to motivate me to stay and help. I found it, so fun to spend time with my imaginary friends since, at the time, I did not have any real ones.

Today, I do hate bees. I have bad memories of getting stung by his rotten bees. Yet spending time with Dad is the best memory I still hold dear. I will never be a beekeeper ever in my life. I do hate those bees very much. Yet, I am so thankful for these memories of Dad and me. I believe that was the purpose of our little job adventure, which we did together. To create memories.