You may remember a while back when I wrote about how my younger son, Parker, had gotten his first job. Well, at that time I was using the term “job” loosely – he was working as an assistant track-and-field official at meets. It was great, but let’s call it very “light” duty. I think he did two meets last summer.

Well, now the industrious 15-year-old has his first, shall we say, real or at least “realer” job – he’s going to be a host at an Irish-pub-type restaurant my wife and I have been patronizing for 15 years. In fact, it’s a place he’s been going to since he was in diapers.

On the way to his first day of training, I had him take a selfie with me in the car because I was so proud. What’s interesting is I was far more excited about his first day of real work than any of his first days of school. In fact, I was over the moon.

Parker and me on the way to his first day of training.

And then I got to thinking about why I was so excited. A job like this is an elevator or escalator for so many reasons – once you get on, you can’t help but rise.

First off, it’s a good environment for him, and I know that must sound strange. How could an Irish pub be a good environment for a young man of 15? I mean, he can’t even get a drink in the place for another six years.

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