The youngest child gets his first real job

My 15-year-old son Jack recently began working at the local Chick-Fil-A. It's a good first job for someone his age for all of the reasons you would expect: You build a work ethic, you learn to do the job even when you don't feel like it, you gain experience working with people (for better or worse), and of course you develop a much better appreciation for the value of money.

There's also this: When that first job is in fast food, you learn one of life's most painful lessons, which is that you really never want to know how the sausage is made.

This lesson applies to more than just fast food, of course, though I learned it literally when I worked at Wendy's in the mid-80s and vowed never to eat their chili again when I saw that the meat for it was just burgers that had been sitting on the grill too long (I have admittedly broken that vow several times since.)

More broadly, though, you learn that the actual process by which the goods and services we purchase daily are made is often surprisingly messy, painful, and in the case of food, disgusting.

Anyway, I say this is Jack's first "real" job, but it's not his first time earning money. For the last few years, he has earned $25 a week cutting grass for our neighbors Joe and Lisa. Over time they have afforded this opportunity to earn a modest summer income to four of our kids, I believe, and we're all grateful for it. They're great neighbors.

Still, this is the first time Jack has had to work within a place of business, learn skills he didn't previously have, and be accountable for every minute of his time during work hours. It's all part of growing up, but I'm a little torn by the fact that it's happening.

On one hand, it's obviously a positive thing. Anything that helps prepare your child to navigate the world of work is a helpful experience in my book.

Conversely, it's little Jack (little in the chronological sense...the boy is, after all, pushing 6-foot-2). He's the baby of the family, and as is always the case when he hits a certain milestone, it's the last time we'll go through that process as parents. To use a 19th-century word, it makes me feel a little melancholy.

But I'm still not going to abandon those Chick-Fil-A grilled chicken sandwiches, no matter what he tells me about how they're made.