The Ricker needs help.

Well, not that kind of help (although I think he should talk to someone about his control issues). He needs help with his projects. Growing up, I was the classic gopher. You know, "Son, go for this . . . go get that . . ." I've helped paint the house. I've spread pine needles on top of grey dirt, because the Ricker hates grey dirt--he much prefers red dirt, which is not so common where we lived . I've dug holes, planted flowers, built decks, weeded endless rock gardens, hung from trees to pick mistletoe (the parasitic tree-killing kind, not the merry, kiss-inducing kind), swept the street, hauled buckets of water, cleaned gutters, cut down trees, shoveled decks that are never even used.

I finally moved out and moved on when I was 18. However, the Ricker still needed help. Shortly after I moved out, the Ricker decided to re-shingle the roof, using his faithful handyman, Manny Ramirez (his motto "good enough for government," which meant it was close to level). The shingles had been dropped off at the bottom of the driveway, because God forbid someone actually drive on the driveway, and I think Manny was pushing 70 at this point. The Ricker enlisted my friends -- Ryan, Eric and Matt -- to carry the shingles up the driveway and onto the roof. Thanks guys, for doing that, although I'm sure you didn't get paid.