If you don't count babysitting, which for two years before I got a real job helped my family to put food on the table, I've been working for 33 of my 49 years. Include babysitting, which paid better than my first real job, and it goes to 36 of my 49 years. My family of origin was blue collar and the work ethic was passed down as if it were a dominant genetic trait, much like my brown eyes. I don't recall a time in my childhood when my Dad worked only one job; My Mom always worked, too. It was the 1960s and I thought only fictional Moms, like TV's Donna Reed, stayed home during the day; I was shocked in elementary school to find out many of my friends had mothers who didn’t have paid jobs.
I grew up believing if you don't work, you don't eat and that education was going to be my ticket to an easier life.
I never considered not going to college, even though I would be the first person on my Mom's side of the family to do so; everything I imagined doing with my life started with an education. And when I got my first salaried job after college I just knew I’d be set for life.




