An open letter to my grandkids on Independence Day:

The fervid debate over a proposed $15.00/hr. minimum wage set me to thinking about my first job and what it meant to me.

I worked as a helper in a small neighborhood grocery/butcher shop in New Jersey. As in many of life’s memorable moments, I stumbled into the job accidentally. While lounging outside the store beneath a large awning during a summer rainstorm, the Canada Dry delivery truck arrived. The driver unloaded several wooden boxes (yes, soda came in wooden cases in those days) and was struggling to get them into the store and out of the rain. For no reason other than boredom, I ran to help him.

After the truck left, the store owner, a guy named John Bonema, came out and handed me a Coke. “That was a nice thing you did, kid,” he said. “What’s your name?”

I told him and, without missing a beat, he asked: “How old are you?”

“Thirteen and a half.”

In those days you needed ‘working papers’ from the state in order to hold a job. The minimum age under the child labor law was fourteen. “Close enough,” said John. “How would you like a part-time job?”

Thus I became an employed kid: three hours after school, all day Saturday and sometimes half days on Sunday. I kept that job until leaving for college five years later.

How much was my hourly wage? I honestly don’t remember – and in the scheme of life, it didn’t matter. (In all honesty, I was not supporting a family, nor was I raising a child as a single parent. I had dreams of going to college and hopefully enjoying a better life than my father — all issues that might impact on many of those seeking a $15.00 wage today.)

I do recall in vivid Technicolor that my dream of college was not to be compromised: not by getting the cute redhead who lived across the street pregnant, not by dropping out of school to make a few bucks more each week, and not by the taunts of ‘cool kids’ who got drunk and stole penny-ante crap to support a cigarette and booze habit. Drugs had not yet appeared- at least on my horizon. Nothing was going to impede my goal.

During those years I progressed incrementally from sweeping floors and scrubbing butcher blocks, to affixing price stickers and stocking shelves and eventually waiting on customers. As John’s confidence in me grew, my pride of work blossomed to the point where , without realizing it, I sought greater responsibility to please him more than for increases in pay. In time, I was closing the store at end of day and delivering the proceeds to John at his home or to the bank.

Because of his confidence in me I became a loyal and dedicated employee ever diligent to the petty theft that frequently happens in retail stores. My friends and classmates knew well not to try and steal from John’s Market.

Among my peers, I was envied.

What I learned was: responsibility, respect for customers, the value of hard work and the satisfaction of knowing I’d done a good job – all traits that served me well throughout my working years.

So, to those at the bottom of the income ladder, I would advise:

• Have goals, both long and short term
• Determine to do the best job you can possibly do in every assignment
• Learn to listen to and respect the boss and the customers

The rewards and respect you crave will follow. They are earned, never granted.

And in the long run, they are more valuable than fifteen bucks per hour.

You are welcome.