When I was in sixth grade, my parents found a slip of paper in the weekly circular that was delivered to our door. It said, “Paperboy Wanted.” And so Mom and Dad, in the interest of teaching my sister and me the value of hard work, got us hired for our first job.
My eleven year old sister and I were now required to take a stack of advertising fliers, roll each up into a cylinder, slip on a rubber band, and deliver these papers door-to-door in our small town of eight hundred. My sister walked one half of town, and I walked the other. Fortunately, instead of getting up at the break of dawn to deliver these papers, we were able to deliver them after school. I also thanked my lucky stars that since these were advertisements, I didn’t have to go door-to-door asking for payment. Unfortunately, every house got a paper and the time it took delivering a circular to each and every house seemed endless. Once a week, my sister and I walked home from school to start rolling papers for a strenuous job that paid very little.
One day, as I was trudging along the main street to deliver my load of tightly bound cylinders, the wind began to pick up. I looked up at the trees. Branches were waving back and forth, and the leaves were twirling around in the air. The sky was turning dark. A dog at the next house started barking. I had an uneasy feeling in my stomach. I wanted to turn back and go home; my house was only a couple of blocks away. But no, the lesson of working hard had already stuck. I kept on, looping rubber bands around doorknobs. It started to sprinkle. Big, fat drops hit the sidewalk. Then, the storm hit. Rain began pouring out of the sky.
Dad pulled up next to me in the car. He had come out searching for me on one side of town and my sister on the other. He helped us finish our route. In the drenching rain, we dashed out of the car to hang the paper from people’s doors, since that was what we were paid to do.
What a relief when our bags were empty and the papers were all delivered! Dad took us home. Mom placed two drenched, shivering girls into a warm bath and fed us dinner. I’ll never forget that feeling of coziness and comfort of finally being home and being taken care of.
To this day, if the wind starts whipping tree branches around, I feel uneasy. When I hear the sound of leaves rustling wildly in the trees, I shiver a little bit, even on a warm day.
Even though this session of Mommy’s Piggy Tales is over, I’m still writing about my growing up years! If you are interesting in writing about your youth, another session of Mommy’s Piggy TALES is beginning on Thursday, October 7. Don’t want to remember that far back? I’ll be guest hosting “My Young Adult Years” at Mommy’s Piggy TALES starting Monday, October 11. I hope you’ll join us!
