Reflections

Remembering My First Job

The AARP bulletin has an essay each edition. The last one asked for what you know about first jobs. I remember mine with a bittersweet pang.

I began babysitting at the age of fourteen and quickly garnered a steady list of families. It paid well and once the kids went to bed, the time was mine to do homework, read, watch TV—and raid the refrigerator. I especially liked the family who kept gourmet chocolates there, though teen angst made it tricky. One week to the next, few would be gone. How could they resist? Though invited to help myself, I felt awkward taking them and made pains to select from various spots in the hope that the holes would be overlooked.

Apparently, I took too many. One night, I crouched down to pick up their toddler, a sweet-natured little boy who loved my made-up stories. The rip of the inner thigh seam of my jeans ricocheted around the room. I pretended not to notice as did the thoughtful parents. I learned more than compassion for another’s embarrassment from this family. I held and cared for my first infant when their baby daughter was born and figured out how to slow down her loving brother’s excessive displays of affection. He thought she enjoyed being rolled from one end of the rug to the other.

Sooner than I wanted to, I learned about grace under extreme circumstances. I hadn’t heard from the family in some time and neighbors, whose kids I also babysat, informed me that the sweet little boy who loved stories was battling cancer. I told myself I should call the family. I had no words. The mother called me several months later and asked me to babysit. I’ll never forget how she worded the news. “Our son died on us.” Said in a calm, accepting voice, nevertheless, it conveyed a deep chasm of pain. Again, I had no words. I hung up and cried.

Entering their house and holding the baby girl who would only have her parents’ memories of her big brother was hard. Despite their own anguish, the couple made an effort to ease my disquiet. We traded stories of their three-year-old son, cute to mischievous, and the heartache didn’t seem quite so bad. They moved not too long after. Their example of courage, empathy, and grace has stayed with me. I hope I’ve put them to good use in turn.

Next Time

I think I’ll post my compilation of the life of Jesus on Fridays and whatever comes to mind the rest of the time.