Labor Day in the USA means barbeques, a three day weekend, the unofficial end of summer, the “don’t wear white” anymore fashion mandate, big department store sales, etc. The holiday, however, stems from our Industrial Revolution roots in the late nineteenth century. Labor activists pushed for a federal holiday to honor our fellow hard working Americans. Long overdue Puritan work ethic recognition!
More and more, our working lives have come to define who we are and for some people, determine self-esteem. Peruse any self-help bookshelf and there is an abundance of career exploration options to be found. Back in my 1980s career quandary exploits, What Color is Your Parachute by Richard Nelson Bolles was the definitive guide to finding your true path. Yet, do jobs determine who we are and our self-worth? I have had to ask myself this question many times! Now that I am retired at 62 years young, it is interesting to look back at my work and career choices (work is not always the same as career, in my opinion) with a more non-judgmental eye.
Over the years I have been very hard on myself for making some career faux pas. In retrospect, I can see more clearly how my career path resembles an ol’ man river that meanders, twists and turns, can be crazy rapid at times and then, just around the bend, flows calmly along…
Usually we start contemplating our careers in high school. Working on both the high school newspaper as Editor-in-Chief, as well as part of a student TV news show in Los Angeles, I thought it was a no-brainer that I would become a journalist as an adult. Ooops! Not so fast! I got rejected from Northwestern’s Journalism school (crushed! major tears!) and then my dad told me we couldn’t afford the University of Wisconsin, Madison where I was accepted (crushed again!). I didn’t apply to a lot of schools, so off to post-hippeeville, more affordable San Francisco State University where I took a spin at acting (fail). Then I fell in love with literature. Eventually I opted for a Bachelor’s Degree in English with an emphasis in Creative Writing. Uh-oh. What can you do with this degree?
My jobs in college included Kelly Girl (I’m dating myself here…), market researcher, secretary at a cash register company, information desk person, bill payer for a blind man (very rewarding job), you name it. Often I had two jobs at the same time to make college student ends meet.
Fast forward to post-college and New York City where I landed work in advertising making little money in one of the world’s most expensive cities. My first advertising job was very much like a scene from Mad Men…in fact my agency with accounts such as DeBeers diamonds, the Army, 7-up, etc. was once mentioned in one of their episodes (NW Ayer was the company and it was eventually dissolved in 2002). It was beyond glamorous to work on 6th Avenue, take an elevator up 47 floors every day, interact with wacky creatives, Ivy League account executives and newbies/schlubs like me. I also made coffee and ran frantically around the corner to get croissants for last minute meetings. After five years there, I took a chance on a very small mom and pop ad agency to advance my career. My goal was to become a big fish in a small pond; unfortunately, the pond was more like an alligator infested swamp — the worst job EVER. This was my Devil Wears Prada boss who would scream at me on the phone to call her a cab because her fur coat was getting wet in the rain…and this was on a good day. In the middle of all this drama, I got married.
Burnt out and broke after my erratic advertising career, and missing my family, we moved back to Los Angeles where I got a job as a secretary for an architectural firm. This job was a breath of fresh air: easy and the people were fun. But I had other plans: motherhood. Suddenly, everything I once thought I wanted went out the proverbial window. My big city dreams morphed into wanting to be a mommy to my baby boy.
As my son grew up I worked part-time as much as possible so he would not be in daycare for eight hours a day. When he was ill (and he had many ear infections those early years) it was tough requesting time off from office jobs. Winter and summer vacations were even tougher. I didn’t want to send him to camp every single day. By this time I was also going through a divorce. Being a single mom, sharing custody, and maximizing my time with my child was not for the faint of heart. I was an office manager for a dental practice when fate intervened.
While volunteering as a “team mom” for my son’s baseball team, another mom and I started talking about life, careers, and our futures. She was going back to school to become a school psychologist. “They are in desperate need for English teachers,” she said. “You’re great with kids, you’re super organized and you have a degree…you’d be perfect! Plus you would have summers off with your son!” I responded with a profound, “Nah.” I felt that there would be too many hoops to leap through. I was scared that I wouldn’t have enough time, that I wouldn’t have the patience to be a teacher, that I wasn’t qualified. I was just plain scared.
This friend didn’t give up, however. One morning she called me to tell me that she just saw a TV news show about how they need English teachers with the Los Angeles School District. They had an emergency credential program where you could teach full time while getting your credential. She was relentless in her encouragement and unwavering belief in me. Finally, I relinquished and made an inquiry. My frightened self decided to take one day at a time, fill out one form at a time, take one baby step after another. I handled my fear in little bitty increments.
The baby steps moved me forward and in a matter of months, I was hired as a Junior High School English teacher. I cried when I got the job. Sobbed. Now I had a job where I’d be using my interests, my professional and interpersonal skills and it would not interfere with my son’s schedule. I would get my credential through the free District Intern program over the course of a a few years.
The first time I heard the voices of students waiting to come into my class, I was terrified. How would I fill the time? Would they all run around and disobey me? Who was I to teach English? Eventually, though, with each passing day, and the support of other teachers and mentors around me, I became more confident. I absolutely loved my job. I was making good money, had the same days off as my son, and felt fulfilled for the first time in my professional life. I was 39 years old.
After three years, I earned my Single Subject teaching credential.
Now my career river enters some unchartered territory…maybe like a metaphorical Lewis and Clark expedition for those history buffs amongst us. I eventually remarried a high school counselor that I met at my teaching job and we had a baby girl. Again, my priorities shifted. I had two miscarriages before she was born, and I knew, just knew that I wanted to be a stay-at-home-mom this time around. It had been 12 years since my son was born and I had been working that entire time.
Fortunately, we had the income for me to stay home with my daughter for those first eight years. I would tutor English or substitute teach now and then, but mainly my job was to be a mom — volunteering at her school, making lunches, scheduling playdates. Meanwhile, my son was in high school and I attended his tennis matches. My husband encouraged me to keep a foot in the teaching door, however, because in his words, “an airplane has two engines, so if one of them fails, the other one can take over.” Here comes a major fork in the river.
My husband was a prophet. One normal December day, he suddenly passed away from a heart attack. In an instant, I was a widow and a single mother to our elementary school aged daughter, as well as my son who was now 20 years old. The enormity of that tragedy is beyond comprehension and someday I will delve into what we went through in a more thorough fashion. But for today’s blog I will just say this: I knew again that I would have to go back to work. But doing what?
We were living in the suburbs by then. I thought about getting a full-time teaching position but didn’t feel as if I had the stamina for it. My health had taken a few hits over the years, as well. Taking the path of least resistance, I opted to work as an Instructional Assistant at our local school district. It would be a six hour a day job with benefits. No lesson planning or endless paper grading. Just enough to supplement my late husband’s social security and his pension that I inherited. We would get by! I would also be able to be around for my daughter after school and during vacations.
Over the next ten years I worked as an Instructional Assistant with Special Education students. I did apply for full-time teaching positions sporadically, but did not get any of the jobs I applied for. The jobs were going to younger people, or older people with connections, and/or I simply must have sucked at interviews. Truth be told, I didn’t have my heart in it, either, so that must have showed. My self-esteem took a hit, indeed; I was assisting teachers who were very appreciative to have a credentialed teacher helping out, but I wasn’t THE teacher in the classroom.
On the the other hand, I felt very lucky to have a job that was helping students, was not too demanding and if I needed to take off a day to be with my daughter if she was ill or had a school event, it was never an issue. When my daughter was in high school (time flies!) I volunteered to help out with her marching band activities and that took a ton of my free time. After five years of widowhood, too, I remarried.
So in December of 2022 I decided to change course once again. My patience was waning, my blood pressure rising. My school had experienced a shooting and the aftermath of that left me feeling depleted and that it was time to call it a day in the classroom. I retired after 24 years in education without a plan; maybe I would take a trip or two. Maybe I would finally read War and Peace, reboot my blog, or even write my memoir about being a teenager in 1970s Los Angeles. Now that my children are adults, I could focus on the creative writing I so loved back in my college days.
Not being able to realize my potential at times was painful in some ways. However, I’ve always lived in gratitude. I’ve realized, too, that my true labor of love has always been motherhood. Being a parent is one of those jobs that is very difficult and the most rewarding. I know there are women out there who have been able to juggle demanding careers and motherhood and I commend them. I’ve also noticed a trend to live a “soft girl life” where women find creative ways to earn income from home (or anywhere!) so they can curate a relaxed, simpler life with or without children. Presently, I feel as if I am living my soft girl, albeit retired life!
On this upcoming Labor Day perhaps reflect on where your work/career/job/home life is headed. I would love to hear from my readers about your choices and how they have affected your life.
In the meantime, enjoy your three day weekend! I will be camping and NOT reading War and Peace.
Cheryl Thatt-Burbank 