HAVING RECENTLY DISCOVERED that my 16-year-old had far too much time on her hands, which was leading her to find any and all kinds of trouble that exist in the world, we decided that it was finally time for her to get a part-time job.

To be fair to her, she has wanted a job ever since she realised that employers give you money in exchange for your time, and that this money could then be converted into clothes, make-up, concert tickets and matcha.

She had already sent her CV out to a couple of local businesses since turning 16, but hadn’t heard anything back, and I didn’t really push the issue either. I was reluctant for her to take yet another step into adulthood, and also far too aware that she will spend enough summers working in her lifetime.

Anyway, she really enjoyed Transition Year this year and basically had an entire year off, so we thought a little hard work over the summer might do her some good. I decided to help her with the recruitment process, and give her the benefit of my expertise, and actually within seconds of opening her CV realised that she had misspelled her email address, and also entirely forgotten to include her phone number.

This probably explains why no potential employers had contacted her previously, and also prompted me to quietly delete the line where she claimed to have ‘excellent attention to detail’.

Stepping into the big, bad world

It’s hard to do a CV for a 16-year-old because there’s only so much filler you can add. Work experience was, obviously, a little thin on the ground, so we mostly tried to focus on her strengths.

And then I just… adjusted them slightly. So, ‘will argue to the death if asked to unload the dishwasher when it’s her sister’s turn’ became ‘excellent communication skills’, and ‘can complete homework on her knee in the 10-minute car journey each morning’ became ‘works well under pressure’ and ‘has begrudgingly agreed to not lose her mind anytime her younger sister speaks’ became ‘key team player’.

Surprisingly, we also had some good material from Transition Year, as she had completed Barista Training and a First Aid Course. By the end of it, she was looking alarmingly employable.

The next challenge involved getting the CV into the hands of local employers, because apparently it’s ‘cringe’ and ‘desperate vibes’ to ask about potential upcoming vacancies in any kind of capacity. She said it was ‘creepy’ to ask about a job in person and also added that only ‘weirdos’ make phone calls. This meant we didn’t do much for a few days, until she eventually accepted that employers generally prefer applicants who make them aware of their existence, and that there are very few other ways for a 16-year-old to find work other than actually applying for it.

I don’t know which one of us was more surprised when she got a call for an interview with a local hotel, but I definitely felt more nerves than she did. This was really where I started to question if I had made a terrible mistake. It felt like it was only last week when she would refuse to wear anything other than princess dresses with wellies, and since she stopped eating Play-Doh. And she was written up for wearing the incorrect uniform at least 42 times this year.

Was she really ready for the workplace? Have I done enough to integrate her into society?

Apparently I had, because she breezed through the interview. We only had one small disagreement beforehand, and it was when I insisted that she did have to wear proper shoes, and that runners were not ‘basically the same thing’.

Less than a week later, it was the night before her first shift, and I was, undoubtedly, more worried than she was. I began to do that annoying thing I keep doing where I continuously dispense advice that nobody asked for. ‘You know you can’t just go to the bathroom or take your break whenever you feel like it?’ and ‘you have to leave your phone in your locker or handbag’. I told her she couldn’t appear bored, or tell the customers she was bored, or even tell the customers anything about herself really. It got to a point where I wondered if it would just be easier to go in with her.

Letting them fly

I didn’t, obviously. I have survived this long being a ‘hands off’ and ‘whatever the opposite of a helicopter is’ type of parent, and I wasn’t about to start hovering now. I told myself that she would be fine; I had to let her figure this out herself.

Unfortunately, that didn’t include getting to her breakfast shift the next morning, and I had to set my alarm for 6.30 am on a Saturday morning, which felt illegal. It never ceases to amaze me how children continue ruining your sleep long after they begin sleeping through the night.

I was very aware of how she must be feeling, and I tried to keep the car drive over as calm as possible. I even stopped myself from giving any further advice. Everything was going fine, right up until we arrived in the car park and it was time for her to get out of the car.

To her absolute horror, I began to get choked up. I didn’t want to let her go. I was suddenly desperate to bring her home, put on an episode of Peppa and cut the crusts off her sandwiches. I was not at all prepared to see her walk away. I reached out my arms to embrace her, but she swerved the hug, hissing ‘oh my God, do not do this here’ at me through gritted teeth as she grabbed her bag and closed the car door.

So instead, I just took a video of her walking into the job in her little uniform and sent it to the family group chat. She sent back a message that is unrepeatable here, but I was just relieved that she waited until her break to check her phone.

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And actually, the entire first shift went without any kind of drama. She was exhausted from learning all day and taking it all in. She couldn’t believe how many steps she did and told us how she had been on her feet all day.

She was all talk for the evening then, about everyone she met and all the things that she did, and it was very surreal to hear her talking about situations that we had never prepared her for, that she handled with ease and grace. And even more so, that she enjoyed figuring things out and felt great about herself afterwards.

It was such a lovely moment to see her so animated and enthusiastic. Confident and capable. Watching her made me think about when we were teaching her how to cycle a bike. I was trying to teach her how to pedal slowly and properly, how to check her surroundings and how to be safe.

And there came a moment where I realised that me holding onto the back of her bike to keep her at my pace was just making her wobble. Not only was I knocking her balance, but I was holding her back.

The moment I let her go, she took off at the speed of light without a moment’s hesitation. I realise we have continued this pattern many times over the years.

I think I’m still trying to teach her how to fly, but it would be far better for both of us if I accepted that she already can.

Margaret Lynch is a mother of two and a parenting columnist with The Journal.