The summer before my kindergarten year we emigrated to the United States and my father, investing in our future, self published a book in Polish.  My first job was when I was barely five. We spent that summer promoting his book at church picnics.  It became a competition between my sister and I to see who could sell the most.  Each of us ran to our father with fist full of American dollars begging for his affirmation, "Tata!  Tata!"  Throughout that school year, in a one bedroom apartment, my sister and I answered the door selling more copies of the book while my pregnant mother slaved over laundry downstairs.

Years later my parents purchased a neighborhood hardware store where I spent countless weekends behind the cash register serving some of the most interesting characters in Chicago's Polish community.  Never being allowed a weekly allowance I juggled working at the store for extra spending money while being a teenager.  "I don't know what the Phish concert is about.  I no give you money.  You want?  You work!"  So while my suburban American friends with normal families slept in on Saturday mornings, I was recommending power tools to immigrants after mandatory Polish school let out.  This is why I never ever understand any references made to Saturday morning cartoons, to date.

For as long as I can remember - each member of our family has contributed to our business.  This year my nearly eight year old son beat a family record of being the youngest associate working the longest day.  For $2.25 an hour he managed to make it six hours accompanying Tata from store-to-store-to-warehouse-to-another-store-to-the-warehouse-again-and-to-the-last-store.  Kudos to my son and his patience.  I have vivid memories of my short tempered father angrily correcting my mistakes; but my son, years after my own experiences has nothing but good memories from his first day on the job with Tata.

"I pay for lunch if work for $2.25 for hour; if I pay $2.50, no lunch included."

"Which is the better deal, Mama?"  My son eagerly approached me during the negotiation process.

"Are you sure you want to work all day long?"  I hovered.

"Yes.  If I work ten hours I will make $22.50.  That's so much, Mama!"

"I take photos.  It will be good blog."  Tata (the most frequent visitor to Classy Chaos - reading comments three times a day) smiled.

And off they went...

For six hours the two of them worked.  Four stores.  One warehouse.  Countless amounts of cardboard boxes placed in car.  Two "free" coffee mugs.  One "free" Black Hawks tee-shirt purchased at a gas station.  A lunch.  And $13.50 richer, my son came home all smiles.

"You see?"  Tata said.  "It's a great America."