Limited Horizons

Every season was a new sport. A new stick, a different ball, a clean jersey, and an unfamiliar group of girls who would great me each new season as one sports winning streak came to an end and the next one was just beginning. I went through middle school and high school spending the majority of my time outside the classroom playing sports. My life was consumed by late practices, games on weekends, tournaments across the country, and my teammates. It all seemed so important. It would be game day. I would be sore from the practice the night before but it would prepare me well for the big game against one of our rival teams. We would wear our uniforms to school, teachers and classmates would tell us good luck, posters with cheers and messages of support would cover the hallways, and we would all walk on the field together. I would give every game, every practice, every moment I was on the field my all. It all seemed so important, and I considered it my job.

When grownups or teachers would ask me if I had a job I would reply, "With what time?" I would wake up at 7:30, go to school, straight to practice, and get home around 9 with a some time for homework. I had no time to be employed, to earn a living. My job was to go to school and to win games. I did my job well. I was a good student and was captain of two teams both ranked top 10 in the country, and when I graduated I felt accomplished and satisfied that the job I had done was a job I was proud of.

It was not until graduation and the end of my high school sports career that I realized I never had a real job. A job that required an interview, a schedule, a boss, and most importantly a paycheck. I was used to tryouts, practice schedules, and coaches, but my paycheck was winning and there were no dollar signs attached. It was time for me to get a real job. A job that required hard work, effort, and time.

After a couple useless arguments with my parents I decided it would be easiest for me to just work at my dad's restaurant. It was close to my house, I could choose my own hours, I'd get work experience, and I would get paid. During the day I would file invoices, pay bills, and count receipts. It was busy work that took time but was not difficult. It took about an hour for me to get aquatinted with the computer programs and filing systems the office used and I was competent after day one. When I would work evenings I would hostess the entire restaurant and wait on the few tables in the bar area. I trained for a few hours the first day but my dad said I was a natural and I would pick it up right away. It was hard work. It was a busy restaurant with plenty of costumers and plenty to do. I would typically work 6 hours straight taking one or two ten minute breaks if necessary. I would get off around 12 and be exhausted. Occasionally I would meet up with my friends afterwork but I'd usually be too tired and go straight home.

After writing down my work experience it seems frivolous and juvenile. I had it made easy. No interview, no previous work experience, no tremendously difficult work, 6 hour shifts, and most importantly my dad was the boss so none of my fellow employees were looking to get on my bad side. Reading the first three chapters of "The Working Poor" and learning about the dozens of people struggling to live off the jobs they held at restaurants was startling. I worked to have spending money in college these people are working to afford housing, and plumbing, and taxes, and the basics, all of which I already had.

Before being "employed" I considered sports my job and they were. Not a paying job but the general ideas and structure were the same. If I had not had my experience with sports to show me what dedication, reliability, and responsibility required I do not think I would have been able to keep the job at my dads restaurant. Without the computer classes I took I would not have been able to understand the systems in my dads office. And without my dad's influence and my upbringing around restaurants I would not have picked up serving so easily. What about the majority of Americans who aren't like me? Who don't understand responsibility who don't have fathers that can employ them? They are limited to what there education has taught them, what their family (if they have one) has provided for them, and the skills they have picked up along the way. They are limited from the start. It is not some big horizon waiting for them to succeed it is a miniscule frontier prolonging failure.