First Summer Job

I remember back to my 16th summer, and my first summer job. I had officially joined the work force. I, like most of my friends , was thrilled to have been hired  to work full time for the summer.  dreams of a car, new clothes, and the latest in rock albums danced in my head.  Of course I was making the grand sum of $1.60 an hour, but that was a buck sixty more then I would have had otherwise.

 My grand entrance into the world of the employed took place at our local Woolworth's 5 &10. We had a dress code that consisted of either a dress or skirt, and an aqua colored smock/jacket, complete with name tag.  Jeans were strictly verboten!  My first day on the job, I learned how to make keys and cut shades to order.  Life skills! The old cash registers were nothing more than glorified adding machines, so any sales tax (5% back then) had to be calculated in your head, and added to the total. Once the total was figured, you would mentally "count up" the change due back to your customer. Mental math gymnastics.

A few weeks into my "career", the older lady who ran the pet department was taking her vacation, and I was transferred to that department for the week. I lasted one day, and it is a day that will go down in infamy. The pet department didn't carry dogs or cats, however they did a thriving trade in the birds, fish, and hamster  department. My first morning on the job, I was informed by my boss, mean old Mr. D., that  all the cages needed to be cleaned out.  One glance was enough to convince me that this was obviously an annual event , and would take place the one day a year, when the "new Kid" filled in for summer vacations. I was looking at 5 cages of year old bird poop! 

Well a job is a job, and I got to it.  Unfortunately one bird, a blue parakeet, made a break for the border and escaped. Oops! There wasn't much I could do, as the ceilings in the store were easily over 25 feet high, and my personal ability to fly was non-existent. Oh well, I thought and continued on scrubbing cages. Shortly thereafter, there seemed to be quite the commotion coming from the front of the store.  The snack counter to be exact. Apparently, as was related to me by mean ole Mr. D.  (who was now sporting a pulsing blood vessel on his forehead) my "Free" bird, had decided to try log walking on the hot dogs that were spinning on the hot rollers. Needless to say the patrons and waitresses were not impressed. I mean lighten up, this was decades before we even heard of bird flu! I was told in no uncertain terms, that I had to recapture that bird before the close of business.  I was armed with a 5 inch net used for scooping  fish, and as I mentioned earlier, the ceilings were at least 25 feet high.  In other words, Mission Impossible.

As I was pondering my predicament, we received a fish delivery. When the fish guy comes, he tosses plastic bags containing water and fish, into the large aquariums. I finished up cage detail, and started dumping the fish out of their bags into their respective tanks. I was almost finished, when a blood curdling shriek erupted at the Hamster pen. It seems that one of the hamsters had given birth, and her cell mates were engaging in baby hamstercide in full view of customers. People came running, as I bravely scooped the new mother and children to safety in a separate pen. Mean ole Mr. D. was not impressed.

After all the hoopla died down, I returned to my fish duties, when uh-oh.....all the fish I had previously dumped into their new home, were doing a particularly gruesome back float.  I learned later, that the fish delivery guy was not being lazy when he didn't dump the fish into the aquariums, rather he was letting the water in the bags acclimate to the water in the tanks. In this way the fish would not be shocked to death when undergoing a significant temperature change. Mean ole Mr. D. explained this to me, as I watched not only his pulsing blood vessel, but his face turn a bright magenta.

Well the cages were clean, the fish (or what was left of them) were fed, and the Hamster situation resolved. My only problem was my run away bird. I came up with, what I thought was a very crafty solution.  Back then, some birds had clipped wings.  They were kept in a chicken wire enclosure, with a screen window placed on top. Luckily the pen was deep enough, that none of the "clippies" could hop out. I removed the top screen, and walked to the back of the department.  Sure enough my little runaway came sailing in for a quick snack.  It seems that hot dogs weren't cutting it. I quickly replaced the top.  Victory was mine! I thought Mean ole Mr. D. would be happy, but all he could sputter in my direction, was "that bird is a $5.00 bird, and you have him in the $1.00 pen!" " Get him where he belongs, before someone tries to buy him for a buck!"

Finally my day in the pet department came to a close.  Mean ole Mr. D. transferred me back to house wares where I spent the remainder of my summer making keys and cutting shades, grateful I didn't lose my job after "Nightmare in Petville."  You know, maybe he wasn't that mean after all.

A Chicken Returns to the Roost

We're back!  And we are not alone!  Junior is home after that first year at college, and we all have some adjusting to do. He departed straight from the island to his in-state school last August. We assumed we would see him occasionally, as he was only about 45 minutes away, but you know what happens when one assumes. That first semester he graced us with his presence once, over Thanksgiving break. We have a sneaking suspicion they closed the dorms that weekend, and since we were the only game in town he stopped by. Saying he came home to see us, would be exaggerating that weekend.  We were treated like timeshare pitchmen. He would stop in for the obligatory family meal on Thanksgiving, and then be free to come and go, mostly go, with friends, while having a nice clean bed, and fully stocked refrigerator at his disposal. Did I mention we were also his personal ATM?

Now he is home for the summer, and I have to say the bloom is fading off that rose. Apparently he is under the impression that we have converted our LBI home into a Motel 6, complete with maid service and an in house restaurant. We can track his movements through our house by the trail of empty water bottles, discarded socks, and empty food wrappers. Did I mention curfews? Apparently,  unbeknown to us, he has out grown them.

Now I realize that he did not have to adhere to any of these silly rules while at college, but as most parents will tell you, ignorance is bliss. I am a strong believer in adhering to the local social mores and customs, when visiting a foreign country. I don't think it has dawned on him that he is no longer living in the land of the free (read dorms), and the home of the non-existent curfew. I suspect there was more than a few nights this past year, when he arrived home the same time dawn was breaking, and as hard as this is to believe, I was young once too. The problem is I cannot fall asleep till I hear that bike rolling over the stones in our front yard, and the subsequent mid-night (or later) raid on my refrigerator. Only then, am I free to roll over and drift off, knowing all my chicks are accounted for. Welcome to the Parent Hood!

To be fair, there were also some great things I have witnessed. I have seen some signs of maturity.  He actually talks, and LISTENS to his younger siblings. He thanks me for making dinner.  We can engage in conversation, and miracle of miracles, he has admitted, in front of witnesses, that maybe his parents were right about a few things! Be still my heart.

I can't say I wasn't warned about this phenomena, by friends and family. How you gonna keep them down on the farm, once they've seen and tasted freedom? So this summer will be a delicate dance, one in which I slowly retreat with trepidation, and he goes fearlessly forward into adulthood. Now if I can just manage to keep my fridge and pantry stocked, I'm sure we'll make it through.

Vindication

I haven’t written much lately, and I want to explain why.  I have been recovering from a shock, which shook me to my very core. Not a bad thing, but rather a wondrous event.  My eldest admitted to me that I might have been right.  I know, I know, I am still reeling myself! Friends and acquaintances with older offspring told me this day would come, but I believed my child would defy those optimists, and continue to roll his eyes at me till he was well into middle age.

So on what issue did this miraculous reversal take place, you might ask.  Wardrobe choices! For years I had pointed out various outfits that I felt would look complimentary.  I wanted him to take advantage of the physique he so nonchalantly ignored, tall and lean.  Like most in his peer group, he believed his body would stay like this forever.  I tried to warn him that a beer belly waited for him after a college kegger or two, that the freshman 15 turned into the young adult 30 in the blink of an eye.  Make hay while the sun shines, dress well while clothes still look good on you, I counseled. Trust me, you will look back from middle age at the photos from college, and be mortified at your wardrobe choices. Extra long gym shorts slung way too low, with a wide swatch of boxer shorts on display doesn’t do anything for anybody.  Not even if you are a hip-hop rapper, which by the way, you are not.  The ratty t-shirts sporting grease stains from the last few pizzas you scarfed down coupled with a beat up pair of board shoes, will never get you on the cover of GQ! It was a battle that could not be won.  Peer pressure one, Mom zero.

I was looking over the latest catalogue from Land’s End on a recent afternoon, admiring the clean classic looks sported by the young men, when a miracle occurred.  He leaned over, paged through and said to me, “You know, I wouldn’t mind getting some of these clothes, they look really good.” WHAT!!!!!  Are you being sarcastic, was the first thought that ran through my mind.  I looked around to see if there were any video cameras filming this. Had I had just been a victim of a cruel joke, for the viewing pleasure of u-tube aficionados?  “Are you serious”, I asked? “Yeah, I think it’s’ time to start cleaning up my act in the clothes department.” He replied. Be still my heart, he was agreeing with me!

In the blink of an eye, I had him in the car, racing to the mall.  I figured strike while the iron is hot, this change in attitude was very fragile, and could reverse at any moment. He hasn’t allowed me to help with garment choices since he grew out of his Oshkosh B’Gosh overalls. At the mall, we zeroed in on the young clean looks shown in the catalogue.  He headed off to the dressing room, arms laden with classic Bermuda shorts, cotton button down shirts, and a pair of docksiders. He emerged dressed how I always hoped and prayed he would.  I think I actually brushed a tear or two away. Major damage was done to my American Express card that day, but they were joyous purchases. I felt like a kid at Christmas.

Later that evening he showed his dad the new duds. My husband smiled fondly, and reminisced that these were the same classic looks that he wore in college.  However that was not the same story my mother in law had related.  She had shared with me her battles with children versus clothes. She used to insist that her sons wear the classic khakis, Izod shirts, and boat shoes for major holidays, family events, and any picture taking opportunities.  This was done under protest.  “If left to their own devices, you would have seen a lot more Nehru Jackets and Leisure Suits” she said.  “Trust me, they grow up, and start making some smarter wardrobe decisions” she counseled.

I began to reflect on my own outfit choices, back when I was a teen. Low slung “elephant” bell bottom jeans, with beaded head bands tied Indian style across one’s forehead was not a good look for anyone.  Ditto on the hot pants, 5 inch platform shoes, and the de rigueur tie dyed anything. I must admit I ignored my own mother’s requests to just “take a look” at matching twin sets, and shorts not sporting frayed hems. So I too must admit “sorry Mom, you were right.” Mea culpa.

I overheard my eldest talking to his younger brothers, he was telling them, that maybe Mom wasn’t totally off the mark with her clothing selections.  He actually said, “You know, I have to admit, I should have listened to her sooner.” Ahh music to my ears.  They rolled their eyes and wandered off, one sporting a t-shirt with a picture of a Sumo wrestler, which said “I’m Big in Japan”, the other with a shark tee, sporting the old “Bite Me” logo. I just have to remember they are still in the larva stages of wardrobe development.  One day, in the not so distant future, they too may gladden my heart and ask for button down shirts and argyle socks!