Lessons From Labor

How many jobs have you had in your life? That was the question posed recently by some friends. Wow! I had to stop and think. A lot, I reported. Later, I made a list, going way back to the days I babysat for a mere twenty-five cents an hour, fifty cents for more than three kids. (Yes, I grew up in the dark ages when gasoline was less than thirty cents a gallon). Astonishingly, twenty jobs landed on my list, nineteen before I was thirty-five, when at last I settled into a steady, long career in parish ministry.

Why did I have so many jobs? Easy answer: I needed and wanted money and I started young. In my family, we were never given cash allowances for chores and were expected to support the family by paying our way as soon as we were old enough to contribute. My siblings and I never questioned this mostly unspoken rule, rather, we simply accepted it (as did others of my generation) and willingly entered the workforce as young teenagers.

My parents modeled that a good job, well done, was not only what decent people did, but also what God expected. My dad was a firefighter without a college education but made the best of his blue-collar status. My mother went to college and became a Catholic school teacher. She made a fraction of what a public school teacher earned but her deep faith was more important to her than money and, she believed, worth self-sacrifice. They both worked tirelessly, without complaint, having survived the devastation of the Great Depression.

Although I am now completing my second year of retirement, I still ponder the lessons learned from working most of my life and am curious about current attitudes. Clearly, something has shifted in American consciousness, especially since the pandemic. People seem to work even longer hours, (many from home, online) take fewer vacations, and suffer more from workaholism, (a postmodern word if there ever was one). When polled, they report feelings of restlessness, being unappreciated for their efforts, and anxiety about money and job security. Many parents are strident about not wanting their teen children to work so they can concentrate all their efforts on school. The result? A multitude of young folks who seem ambivalent or even fearful about getting a job.

Have the young been given too much by their wealthy parents? If they do not need money like I did when I was their age, is there even a reason to work? Have we adults over-sheltered them in our concern about reducing stress levels? Or does work have some intrinsic value that we cherish beyond the independence that earning money can bring? How do we cultivate that? These are questions that perhaps have no definitive answers but are still important to consider.

This Labor Day weekend, I think about how my many odd jobs shaped and molded me. Every single one, including some I abhorred, taught me valuable lessons. For instance, when I was a mere fourteen, my aunt, who worked at the local creamery, hired me to be an ice cream sampler at the local grocery store. I was paid five dollars a day to dole out tiny cones of the latest flavor to shoppers and their kids, enticing them to purchase a half gallon or more. My hands were sticky for six hours and although I loved ice cream, would eventually feel sickened by a mere whiff of butter brickle. Although I was good at plastering a smile on my face, I was secretly embarrassed when friends my age saw me. At summer’s end when I refused to continue that job, my dad was indignant. Was I too proud? Too snobbish to earn good money? That hurt but I never forgot his bottom line that hard work, no matter what it was, dignified the worker and should be respected.

That autumn, after I spent a short, unpleasant stint making potato salad at a popular chicken take-out place, I was determined to find a job that would be more in line with my aesthetics. I applied and landed a position as a page in our hometown library, which had always been a sanctuary for me. Even though I was branded as a “bookish egghead,” by my peers, I loved that job and worked there until I graduated. I memorized the Dewey Decimal System, learned how to research books in the card catalog, got proficient at alphabetization, and became up close and personal with famous authors and titles. I also learned about silence, a love/hate relationship that remains a source of spiritual fascination. Although I did not pursue a career in the field, I retain a soft spot in my heart for libraries and bookstores.

Another life lesson came to me after I took a speed-reading course as a senior in high school. When the instructor recognized that I had a natural talent for reading quickly and retaining content, he hired me to be a demonstrator during his sales pitches to various high schools. After explaining the course, he asked a student to go to their library and choose a book, any book, for me to speed read. Then came my shining moment. I took to the stage and when the timer started, would read silently for five minutes. There were always gasps from the audience at how quickly I turned the pages. Time up, I gave a summary of what I had retained. Legions signed up for the course! To this day, speed-reading is second nature to me, explaining why I read twice as many books as most people can manage.

More valuable lessons followed from jobs I worked in offices, retail stores, cosmetic sales, bookkeeping, tutoring, teaching preschool, and much later instructing in college classrooms, and finally, as a Faith Formation Director. Underneath my work experience, a longing developed to pursue meaningful work. I ultimately realized that I wanted a career that left the world a better place and made me a better person, which is why I ended up in parish ministry and remained there for thirty-seven years. I truly loved my work, which I never thought of as work, but as a calling. I still miss it.

The biggest lesson learned from all my experience is the importance of finding work that you love because, as the adage goes, if you “choose a job you love, you will never work a day in your life.” This Labor Day weekend, I pray that my grandchildren are as fortunate as I was and will follow an evolutionary path that contributes both to personal growth and the collective good. Yet, in the end, every step, no matter how menial, paves the way.