URBANNA — The special thing about grandchildren is their activities trigger many memories from our past. It’s fun to compare life years ago when we lived it to what our grandchildren are experiencing today.
Nothing may be more important to the development of children than teenage summer jobs. They teach work ethics at a young age and begin lessons on how to survive in a world without parents.
Last week my 15-year-old grandson told me he had a summer job. “It’s with a deli near the College of William and Mary, Grandmother!” He said, excitement oozing out of every word.
He has worked cutting grass, raking leaves, housecleaning his dad’s office, (the worst job of all!) and helped teach tennis at a summer camp. But this is a hard-working job at a busy restaurant with a salary of $13 an hour, including shared tips.
Which got me thinking about my first real job experience as a waitress at a popular restaurant in my hometown in Vermilion, Ohio.
I was only 14 years old but since my 16-year-old sister, Alice, was working there, I had to work there too. I was too young to work without a license and I begged mother to drive me to Sandusky to get a work permit. She finally agreed probably because a summer with a teenager sulking in the house with nothing to do was more than Mother cared to experience.
It was tough work and my wages were less than a dollar an hour in 1954 but I was ecstatic with my first real job. I loved every minute of being at work, which meant I could also keep up with my friends rather than sit around at home with nothing much to do.
The restaurant was always busy. The worst time was after regattas when all the sailors would come in as hungry as one might expect of men who had sailed star boats all day on Lake Erie.
I took orders and handed them in to the cook, who was the owner’s wife. The owner stayed in the back room doing dirty dishes we would load up on trays and take back to him. There was always a bottle of whiskey nearby, which I finally realized was related to his bad humor. If piles of dirty dishes didn’t trigger a bad mood, whiskey would.
The most embarrassing thing I ever did was deliver a plate full of hot french fries into the lap of a gentleman. The happiest memory was the president of the factory union would come in every morning for a cup of coffee and sit at the counter and debate union demands with me. I would stand up for the company saying business had to earn profits if it wanted to survive.
Mike was a second-generation Irish American with fierce blue eyes and the Wakefields had immigrated from England in 1872. Since Father was the first generation born in America, I was also second generation and therefore raised with plenty of the “mother country” advice (which made things especially sparky.)
I adored Mike. (He always left me a dime tip.) Even when I saw Father have to cross the picket line and I saw the emotion in his face and the faces of the men that worked at the factory and I saw that we were one family and that men should never be divided.
The summer of ’54 I learned a lot about life and how to get along in the public arena, take orders, use the cash register, make change, answer phones, clean and set tables, mop floors, and to stick with a job even when I had a bad day. We all had to work together to make our restaurant the best in town. I learned how tough it was for the owner in the kitchen washing dishes all day long to make enough profit to stay in business.
All was not perfect. The whiskey humor taught me about demon alcohol. One night I told Mother I couldn’t stand his bad temper anymore. She told me I could quit and stay home and enjoy the rest of the summer.
But not Father. “We are not quitters, Mays,” he said and reminded me again the English don’t give up. “And we stay cheerful, Mays, no matter what.” Mustn’t grumble and the stiff upper lip philosophy and all that goes with it. Oh, the English.
I didn’t quit. I learned that in the summer of my 14th year the unfortunate reality of life is there is no perfect job or ideal condition in the world. But one had to function well anyway, keep moving forward through life and … stay cheerful. No matter what.
Exactly what I hope my grandson will learn this summer. We don’t quit, we work hard, do a good job, stay cheerful and we never lose sight of our goals. Not a bad prescription for life.
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