Jay was seven when he started working in our family business. He made $2.25 an hour that summer and enthusiastically worked without any lunch breaks. My father deemed him helpful and now happily pays him under the table each time we visit Chicago.

Three inches taller, six pounds heavier and half a grade smarter - Jay got a pay raise as an eight year old and is now up to $3.25 an hour. With the increase comes the desire to work more. Sunday he managed to follow my father's orders for four hours. God bless my son and his patience for my father (something that took me thirty-three years to find). Tonight he begged to double his work hours, for tomorrow. "What do you do all day?" I asked my son out of interest before allowing him to work again.

"We go to the distribution center and Dziadek yells out numbers of boxes, until I find them."

"I put them on a pull thing and drag them all the way to the truck."

"Dziadek drives the truck all the way downtown Chicago to the Christkindl Market where we unload."

"We find the DOMitp kiosk and deliver all the things they need to sell."

"That's it, Mama."

"That's all we do."

Photos courtesy of Dziadek chronicling the child labor of his first born grandchild. CPS you got my number, call me. The kid made a whopping $13 after a long four-hour work day. He spent his fortune the next day at Target buying Christmas presents for our dog Murphy and my sister's dog Tito. "Why the dogs? They can't buy you anything in return." I argued. "Their licks mean they love me" he answered "I can not wait to see their faces when they unwrap the bones on Christmas."

If I could clone him, I would.