I still remember it like it was yesterday—my very first job at the age of 14, y’all. I was so excited to finally be doing something “grown,” like earning my own money and having a reason to get up early that didn’t involve school. But let me tell you, that excitement faded real quick once I found out what the job actually was.
We were assigned to clean up this huge outdoor area. I’m talkin’ about a full-on field—grass, leaves, twigs, you name it. And it wasn’t just a little touch-up either. They had us out there raking, sweeping, dragging trash bags around before we could even start the real job. See, the field was the play area for kids because I was working at a youth center. We were supposed to help with activities and be role models for younger children and teens. That’s what I thought I signed up for. Not landscaping, okay?
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When they handed me a rake and a trash bag, I looked around like, “Girl, is this what we really doing?” I was confused and a little annoyed. I wasn’t tryna be outside breaking a sweat cleaning up a yard. I remember saying to myself, “I’m rakin’ leaves, picking up sticks, sweeping like this is somebody’s front porch.” It just didn’t feel like what I imagined a “first job” would be.
And the pay? Baby, it was $4.25 an hour. Now don’t laugh, because back then that was something. But at the time, I was standing there with blisters forming on my hands, thinking, “This ain’t it. This is not for me. I don’t like this at all.” I felt like quitting before I even made it to the end of the week.
But here’s where everything changed.
Once we finished cleaning up, they finally let us start interacting with the kids. We were organizing games, helping with arts and crafts, just spending time with them. And I swear, y’all, the minute I saw those kids laughing, running around that field we cleaned up—my heart softened. Suddenly, that hard work made sense. The field wasn’t just a field—it was their world. A place for them to be safe, to play, to forget whatever worries they had at home.
And I started loving that job. Not because of the pay. Not because it was easy. But because I saw the impact. I realized that work wasn’t always about the task—it was about the purpose behind it.
By the end of that summer, I was proud to say I was earning $4.25 an hour. I truly thought I was doing something big, honey! I’d be walkin’ around with my little check feelin’ like I was a whole boss. You couldn’t tell me nothing. In my eyes, I had made it. And honestly, in a way—I had.
That job taught me that every humble beginning has value. It taught me patience, commitment, and the importance of serving something bigger than myself. I learned that sometimes, what feels like meaningless work is actually laying the foundation for something powerful.
So now, whenever I think about quitting something too soon, I remember that summer. I remember the leaves, the sweat, the kids’ smiles, and how that first job—yes, even at $4.25 an hour—gave me lessons I still carry to this day.
Moral of the story? Never underestimate the power of starting small. Sometimes the jobs we like the least at first are the ones that shape us the most.
