Tell Your Kids About Your First Job

Do your kids know about your first job?

Not your career. Not the job where you finally got a decent paycheck, a business card, and a coffee mug with the company logo on it. I mean your firstjob. The job where you were probably underpaid, overdressed, and completely unaware of what you were doing. Tell them that story.

Because your first job might be one of the best ways to get your kids thinking about theirs.

My generation had a pretty simple understanding of employment when we were young: If you wanted money, you had to figure out some way to earn it. There was no direct deposit from Dad. No Venmo request. No tapping Mom's phone against something and magically walking away with a cheeseburger.

You wanted money? There was a lawn that needed mowing somewhere. A driveway that needed shoveling. A restaurant that needed somebody to wash dishes. A grocery store needed somebody to bag groceries. Newspapers needed delivering, leaves needed raking, or a neighbor needed a kid willing to do something unpleasant for a surprisingly small amount of money....and we did it.

That's the part of the story our kids need to hear. Tell them what you made per hour. Tell them what your boss was like. Tell them about the uniform you hated. Tell them about the first time you screwed something up and were absolutely certain you were going to be fired. Tell them about the customer who yelled at you. Tell them about getting up early on a Saturday morning when every cell in your teenage body was screaming, Go back to bed!

But don't just tell them about the miserable parts. Tell them about that first paycheck. There was something about that first paycheck. It wasn't necessarily a lot of money. But it was your money.

You had traded something valuable for it: your time, your effort, your reliability and maybe a few Saturday mornings you'd rather have spent sleeping. That's a lesson kids don't get from an allowance automatically appearing in their account. There's pride attached to earning something.

And here's where I think Dad can take the conversation one step further. Don't just ask: "Where do you want to get a job?" Ask: "What could you do that somebody would pay you for?" That's a completely different question.

I remember that Summer when my Dad said, “Mike, you need to go get a Summer job.”....he may have used stronger words. I was NOT against doing work. I had raked leaves, mowed lawns, shoveled snow and even cleaned pin setting machines at the bowling alley! I did farm work....I wasn't against working, I just hadn't had a steady job up to that time. I was 15 and I went up and down Main Street, filling out applications....and the local, small radio station (where I filled out the application to be a janitor) called and asked if I wanted to be “on the air”....and my lifelong career was born!

Maybe your daughter loves animals. Could she walk dogs? Pet-sit?

Maybe your son knows more about phones, computers and video games than most of the adults in the neighborhood. Could he help people set up their new phones?

Help a neighbor get their television streaming without needing three remotes and a degree from MIT?

Maybe your kid can mow lawns, babysit, wash cars, shovel snow, tutor younger students, make jewelry, bake cookies...that's entrepreneurship in its earliest form. It starts with one question:

"What problem can I solve for somebody else?" That's a great question for a kid to learn.

Because whether your child eventually becomes a plumber, teacher, engineer, broadcaster, nurse, mechanic, or CEO, that's basically what work is. Somebody has a problem. You learn how to solve it.

But there's another reason Dad should tell the first-job story. Your kids need to hear that you weren't always good at this stuff either. There was a time when you didn't know how to talk to a boss.

You didn't know how to handle a difficult customer. You didn't know how taxes worked.

You didn't know why your paycheck was smaller than the number you calculated in your head.

Welcome to adulthood, kid.

They're not supposed to know everything yet. That's what the first job is for. Yes, you earn money.

But you also learn to show up when you don't feel like showing up. You learn that being five minutes early is different from being five minutes late. You learn that sometimes the boss is right.

You learn that sometimes the boss is wrong—and you still have to behave like a grown-up.

You learn how long it takes to earn twenty dollars. Suddenly that twenty-dollar purchase looks a little different. That's education.

So sometime this week, tell your kids the story. Maybe over dinner. Maybe in the car.

Maybe when they start talking about wanting the latest phone, shoes, game system or whatever is currently separating America's teenagers from financial solvency. Tell them about your first job.

Then ask them: "What do you think your first job could be?" Don't shoot down the crazy answers too quickly.

If they have an idea for making money, explore it with them. Help them figure out what they'd charge.

Help them make a flyer. Help them knock on the first door. Drive them to the top of Main street and say, “Ill meet ya at the other end”. Help them practice introducing themselves. Maybe even become their first customer. But don't do the work for them. That's the whole point.

Someday they'll have careers and mortgages and families and responsibilities of their own.

And there's a pretty good chance they'll barely remember what they bought with that first paycheck.

But they'll remember earning it. They'll remember somebody trusting them with a responsibility.

They'll remember realizing, maybe for the first time: "I can do something people value."

That's a pretty powerful realization for a young person. And Dad? You might be the guy who helps them discover it. So tell them about that lousy first job. The goofy uniform. The terrible hours.

The tiny paycheck. And the enormous feeling you had when somebody handed it to you.

Because your first job wasn't really about the money. It was one of the first times the world said:

And there's nothing wrong with giving our kids the chance to answer that question, too.