I used to love playing in the belly of the line truck,
You always told me to stay away from the goop pot.
From a square to a bowline or a clove hitch,
You taught me how to tie every knot.
Or the time I was five and you got called out one night,
I went along with you and sat in the foreman’s truck
and shined the spotlight.
Growing up I didn’t know exactly what a lineman did,
But not many people do.
You loved being a lineman, foreman and troubleman,
But you never brought your job home with you.
I remember watching our pine tree shutter in the rain and wind.
And you would be gone working for days on end.
You were always proud of me,
That I always knew.
I’m proud to be in the family business,
And I’ll be out there on the line, missing you.