Your First
I’ve been watching the news this morning and they seem to think the eldest Obama daughter’s first job is news worthy. It turns out the being assistant to the Production Manager on Halle Berry’s set, is a normal, minimum wage job for most teenagers. I get that being the daughter of the President isn’t normal. It brings experiences into her life that most will never have. It also robs her of many childhood memories that most kids her age are experiencing right now. However, a job on a movie set is no where near a normal minimum wage job for a child. I respect that he wants to “teach” her how to work for her money, and to manage it well so that one day she might have college loans to pay back, if they’re not paid from the get go. I tip my hat to the Obama’s. They started out poor and worked their way up to the wealthy side of life. Thus, giving their kids what they never had. Say that. Don’t spin it as though she works in a kitchen, smelling like grease at the end of her shift. Or, that she’s working a fast food window with a smile, all for a measly few bucks.
My first job was at the only convenient store in town. It was a very small store. It was packed if there were five people inside. It was a feed store, a butcher shop, gas station, coffee shop and the only place in town to buy lottery tickets. I was 15 and it took me over a month to convince Dad to let me work. In fact, Mom had to step up and tell him it was going to happen. That, I do believe, is the only time she took the control from him. It wasn’t that I needed to work, it’s that I wanted to. My parents were lower middle class, but proud. They provided for us. However, I was the only daughter and my mom’s confidant, so I knew the struggles and sacrifices they made for their children. I wanted to alleviate some of that without telling Dad.
He had good reason for not wanting me to start working before I had to. His grandparents were German’s, and he worked on their farm starting at such a young age he didn’t remember life without a job. Unfortunately, his mother, their daughter, was not a loving person. Out of 12 children, she chose to give all of her hate to Dad, kicking him out on the streets at 8 years old. His grandparents took him in, but that meant his weekend job became his every day. He had morning chores and tractors to drive in the afternoon. It was his life. He didn’t want that for his kids.
My hourly job was a dime above minimum wage because the owner respected Dad. That was, of course, the reason I was given. For all I know, everyone started out at $4.35, instead of four-and-a-quarter.
What was your first job?