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Seeing oldest son off to work is job unto itself
Cheryl O'Donovan
Updated: July 27, 2012 12:00PM
My oldest son landed a part-time job this week.
His new employer is a local grocery chain.
He’ll be a bagger and all-around worker.
We’re thrilled, of course.
It’s a terrible economy and he’s really lucky.
Inevitably this brought back memories of my first part-time job as a clerk for Kmart, and then, briefly as a waitress.
My hand shook so much delivering food that I spilled a pitcher of root beer all over a family.
To even the score, my next customers brought in a sick child who threw up all over the booth and we had to boil everything to sterilize it.
I was so bad at waitressing that patrons tipped me to leave.
For his new job, my son must wear a white business shirt, a tie and dress slacks.
Before we drop him off for a training session, I inspect his haircut and ensure that he’s not dug out a Bob-the-Builder belt from the old toy box to wear with his black pants.
On a whim, I tell him to hold still.
I plop two droplets of my husband’s aftershave onto my fingers, and dab it lightly around my son’s bristly jaw.
I frown.
What am I doing here?
Preparing my sweet sheltered son for the sequel to “Magic Mike”?
Then I wash off the aftershave but cannot completely remove the scent.
Now my son and I will both smell like The Most Interesting Man in the World.
“I don’t always use cologne, but when I do, I reach inside the medicine cabinet for the bottle manufactured in 1982.”
Of course, I can’t talk.
My perfume collection has likely turned into grain alcohol.
OK, he’s ready to go to work.
I grab the van keys.
My youngest wants to come, too, and the dog wags his tail.
All four of us (drooly furball included), head over to the store to see him off.
My oldest gets out of the van and I wish him good luck.
He strides for the entrance, and for seconds, he reminds me of my husband when he was younger, tall, slim, vigorous.
My youngest, Mr. Skeptic, heard the wobble in my voice.
“Oh, Mom, you’re not going to cry, are you?”
