From the Editor-In-Chief

I was having coffee the other day with a longtime friend who owns a catering business. We were chatting away when she said offhandedly, “By the way, your daughter is working for me this weekend.” To say I was pleasantly surprised is an understatement... our high-school-aged daughter is a great student, a talented team tennis player, and a delightful person, but so far, (outside of a few babysitting gigs) she’s had little experience in the working world.

I, on the other hand, am my father’s son. Growing up, my dad was (and still is) the hardest-working guy I know, and he made sure I followed suit. From the age of 13 on, during summers, he always had one job or another for me at one of his construction sites. My first assignment was working on a landscaping project, digging holes for trees to be planted at an apartment complex, then laying railroad ties in the 90-degree heat. The smell of creosote still brings those days right back to me. I remember always making sure to have a few bucks in my pocket so that I could buy the foreman two iced teas from the Pizza Hut next door...ensuring he’d take a break, and I could too.

Another time, I painted carports -- my mother loved that one, since I invariably got more paint all over my clothes than on the walls. One memorable summer, I worked on a drywall crew, the lowest guy on the totem pole. I was charged with scraping drywall mud that fell to the floor from the finishers, who thought it great sport to aim for my head. I eventually got very good at lobbing it directly back at them with my spade...the Roger Federer of drywall.

It wasn’t just me that my dad recruited...no, he viewed my entire high school class as his potential work crew. And he was offering $5 an hour, which for some of us was incentive enough. One of my longtime friends recalls the inevitable early morning call from me and hearing his parents say “No, he’s not doing anything...we’ll send him right over.” He says, ”You knew it was going to be a long day.” I had one friend, who, by virtue of being held back a few times, could drive well before my buddies and me, so that summer my dad had us driving around collecting trash from various properties and taking it to the dumpster. Getting paid to drive around?? Sign us up! And while I may not have had the camp experiences some of my contemporaries enjoyed, or spent long afternoons at the golf course or pool, I could brag of knocking back a cold Schlitz after work with the crew (a job perk of which my father was unaware), and my toilet-repair skills are still strong to this day (just ask any wife which quality is more important in a husband: possessing a low handicap or the ability to fix a toilet...I rest my case).

Comparatively, my own offspring haven’t had many jobs, but it must be said that today’s world is not the same as when I was growing up. First of all, there’s more danger out there -- or maybe we’re just more conscious of what can happen to a teenager; some situations just don’t feel safe anymore. And, too, the academic competition is much greater today. Kids are preparing for college before they hit high school, and even getting into what we used to call a “safety school” is anything but a given; consequently, many of us urge our children to prioritize school rather than getting a part-time job. But it’s important to instill a strong work ethic in them, and having a real job is a time-honored way to achieve that.

That’s why I was so happy to hear that my daughter was going to help my friend in her catering business. Our girls are besties from grade school, and when the opportunity arose to help her mom, her daughter asked ours to join her. As we dropped her off, I had high hopes of lessons learned, satisfaction from a job well done...you get the picture. What I actually got at the end of the night from our daughter of few words was a single text: “Slavery.” I assured her Lincoln had freed the slaves eons ago, and privately decided it might be time for a discussion about the value of real-world work experience.

But it turned out, that wasn’t necessary at all. Upon further reflection the next day, our daughter said she thought it had been great, adding, “We worked for almost seven hours, helping set up and then serving at the event. It was tiring, but it was cool to experience what it’s like to work in catering....and while I probably wouldn’t want to make it my career, I’d definitely do it again.” I think her grandfather would be proud.

Jeffrey Cohen jeff@slmag.net