When I walked in the bathroom one night and saw my father spitting mucus ladened with filthy black soot and tinges of blood, my life was changed in a very small yet poignantly profound way. I remember his words clearly. They came powerfully to me; he said, "Justin, never settle for a job that you hate and that can take away your health!" I saw the helplessness in his eyes as he reassured me and sent me to bed with an unconvincing smile. Even at age nine, I was keenly aware that he was making deep sacrifices for our family. I remember lying in bed that night going over this vision of him.

Over the last twenty years, I have witnessed the daily toll that coal mining has taken upon my father’s health. Whether it is his partial loss of eyesight caused by working long days in a dimly lit environment or his constant respiratory infections induced by the inhalation of carbon dust, the physical costs of coal mining are significant. In addition to the health risks, there are the negative mental elements that slowly wear down the psyche of those whose task it is to make the two-mile journey into a sometimes-unforgiving mountain. Ever prevalent noxious gases and other poor environmental conditions constantly remind the coal miner of his poor career choice. At an early age, I began to understand that this was not the life that I wanted. I committed myself to a college education and to do what ever it takes to have choices and not be bound by inexperience or lack of credentials.

In addition to the abhorrent nature of coal mining, the financial benefits and rewards are limited. Growing up in a small Utah town, and the second of ten children, I learned resilience to overcome difficult circumstances. After all, a coal miner’s salary split between twelve people does not go far. Although we always had our needs met, material luxuries remained hard to come by. So at age ten, it was time for me to declare myself a benefactor of my own material support. I must disclose, however, that there were selfish motives involved - namely the Red Line Super Cross BMX bicycle that had become the apple of my eye just a few months earlier. So in January of 1983, I accepted my first position in the work force to become a paperboy for the Salt Lake Tribune. I have been working ever since.

Recently, my wife and I welcomed the birth of our first child. This rite of passage has a profound way of bringing sentiment very close to the surface and has helped me to realize the value of my parent’s example. My father and my mother, even though neither attended a day of college, became my inspiration. I was to go to college, which would provide freedom from limited career choices. My father is still a coal miner and my mother, well, she is just that, a mother. Whether campaigning to victory in student body elections, enjoying spiritual experiences from my two-year religious mission in Pittsburgh, sharing cultural insights from the year that I spent teaching English in Korea, or experiencing a myriad of other successes in life, my parents have celebrated with me. When I received my bachelor’s degree in May of 1999, I was the first one in my family to attend and graduate from college. At that time, I was able to thank my father once again for the indelible inspiration that came from his daily sacrifices.