Work Experience

My brother Francis used to say that kids are born workers, and then we teach them out of it. While he had a point, I’m not sure I agree with his statement completely. I think kids are often more about trying to please and earn positive reinforcement, which can happen when they help out and an adult says, “Good job!” or “You’re so strong!” Eventually, they grow out of the desire to work for praise alone. I know I did.

When I was ten, I got my first paid job outside my family. My parents' friends owned a bakery and when they found out I would like to earn some money, they offered me the chance to press tart shells for them for a couple of hours on Saturday mornings. I would put a little pre-made ball of dough into a foil tart tin, which I placed on what looked like the platform of a microscope, and pull a lever. Pulling the lever activated the metal press which flattened the dough into the tart tin. Although a simple task, the dough had to be perfectly centered. I remember getting a little frustrated at first, and I was soon pretty bored by my one task. I also found the heat of the baking room mixed with the smell of doughnut fat oppressive. I didn’t last long working there. I inherited a small paper route from a sibling next, and that was more to my taste.

As soon as I was eleven, I was legally allowed to babysit. Babysitting was much more interesting to me than pressing tart shells. My mom always told me I had a knack with little kids, and I suppose I did have, although I never really thought about it. Our neighbours a few doors down had two little girls. They hired me for my first babysitting job. Unfortunately, the littlest girl sometimes cried a lot when her parents left. My mom told me to call her if I felt I couldn’t cheer up the little one, and she would come over and help, which she did once. I began to babysit for more neighbours and word got out the kids didn’t loathe me, so I got a regular calls. Sometimes, the eldest kid would not be much younger than I was, and I would always tell them, "I'm not here to babysit you, just your little brother/sister. We can just hang out." I continued to babysit off and on until I was in my late teens, even when I had other jobs, especially if the kids were fun and/or cute, the families paid well, and they had good snacks. 

Tutoring was another side gig I enjoyed from Grade seven through college. In college, I tutored two boys from Hong Kong, helping them with their English. In those days, the international students from Asia generally chose an English name. The two students I worked with chose Otto and Dominic. When I asked Otto why he chose that name, he said, "Because he was a king. The greatest!" No lack of confidence there, but they were fun, teachable boys. My tutoring job led to a summer job as an ESL assistant. I helped kids from Japan, Hong Kong, and even one from Vietnam improve their English so they could eventually get a job in finance or a hotel - the reason their parents sent them to Canada. Some of the kids were homesick, so I did my best to joke around with them and make them feel at ease.

I'd got my first ‘real job’ when I was fifteen. I worked in the canteen at my local ski hill. The hill, now famous for its delicious, healthy fare which spawned a successful cookbook series, was still in its grilled cheese, burgers-and-fries stage back when I was working there. My bosses were two women from Vancouver who'd won the contract to provide the food service that year. They gave me and my coworkers a ride to work Saturdays and Sundays which was very kind of them. Those days were long and I still had five days a week of school and extra-curriculars. Fortunately, it was only a winter gig. The best part of that job was we all took turns doing the various tasks in the kitchen so no one got stuck working the fryer all day. My favourite task was working the till, so I could talk to customers (and cute boys), but we all got a turn and that was fair.

I didn’t go back to the ski hill the following winter because I was offered a year-round job in a sporting goods store within walking distance of my parents' house. I sold footwear, children’s bikes, and cross-country ski packages. My boss was a triathlete, so I left the more serious bike sales to him if I could. I also bought a road bike with some of my earnings and started spending many evenings and summer days off riding. My boss had made sure it fit me perfectly. That bike and I had some very happy times together pedaling out to various beaches with or without friends - earned money well spent. The filming of Steve Martin's movie Roxanne happened in our town that summer, too, and I was thrilled when the actors would come into the store. 

Other jobs I held during my college days, when I still lived at home, included sales at an outdoor sporting goods store (I had to learn a lot about canoes, backpacks, and hiking boots), dishwashing and till at a busy café, housesitting, more babysitting…all jobs within my scope of teenage ability. I took my success for granted.

Then I tried tree planting. My brother Stephen was putting himself through university tree planting. Lots of people I knew from my various jobs tree planted all summer and then travelled or skied all winter. Tree planting was a great way to make a lot of money in a short time. The fact that it was grueling, physical work, and I hadn’t so much as picked up a shovel in my life, didn’t dissuade me from convincing myself I needed to try it. I asked my brother to put in a good word for me with his company, which he kindly did. His company, run by a couple of local brothers, held a two-week training camp for new hires. We were to be bussed out to the cut block for the day, then bussed home for a period of two weeks to see if we liked the job - seasoned treeplanters like my brother lived in camps or motel rooms near the cutblock. I lasted one day. My achilles tendons were shot after several hours of climbing around steep, fire-blackened terrain in caulk boots. I also hated it. A friend of my mom’s found out I had tried tree planting and was horrified. She and her husband had run a tree planting company and she knew what kind of people were successful at it. Apparently, I was not that kind of people. She had been running arts festivals and fairs in our town for a few years, and was amazing at it. She was a visionary, tough, kind, and funny. She offered me a job. I worked for her for three wonderful summers as an administration assistant on a student grant. The best job ever for the best boss. 

By the age of nineteen, like many GenerationX kids, I had been working solidly for nine years. My family didn’t have a lot of money, so we kids all got jobs to buy and do the extra things we wanted, thus leveling the playing field a bit between the 'haves' and the 'have nots' in our schools. There was always work for us because we were generally polite, cheerful, conscientious kids who showed up on time and did what we were paid to do. Working kept us(mostly) out of trouble, put money in our pockets, and expanded our skill sets. We learned to get along with a variety of people in a work setting, behave professionally, follow instructions, manage our money, and sometimes, how to stand up for ourselves. By the time I was  applying for my first adult job, I had a decent resume with more on it than, 'I know how to keep my room clean'. 

I am so grateful I had so many opportunities to work, learn, and earn spending money as I was growing up. Working helped my shaky confidence to grow and taught me a bit about how the world works. I learned through trial and error what sort of jobs I had aptitude for. My husband and I encouraged our kids to get jobs when they were old enough. They had lots of energy to burn and a strong desire to buy things we couldn't afford after housing them, feeding them, and paying for extra-curriculars like sports and music lessons - so, working was a natural fit for them. 

I hope kids will always have the opportunity to expand their horizons by working. I hope AI doesn't take all the entry level jobs away, robbing our children of such great opportunities for growth.

'til next time, 

Rebecca