Working

Everything is going along just swimmingly. The offer on the house was accepted, another financial move fell easily into place and then my father, out of nowhere, tells me that he has some work needed to be done on an up and coming project of his and do I want to do it from home to make extra money? Well, yes I do, Dad and thank you for asking!

I've always had a fairly strict policy on working with family – that it should NEVER be done. My father owns his own company and at any given time there have been at least three or more family members working there.

*shudder*

It's many things. The fear of other people thinking I had gotten a job not because of my intelligence but because of who I was related to. The fear of not seeing my father as my dad anymore, but my boss instead. Or my sister. Or uncles. Etc.

I wouldn't ever want to question anything myself either. I would want to know that I had received a raise because I deserved it, not because my parents knew I was having hard times financially. I would want to be promoted when I earned it and never question if “Daddy” was just helping out again. So over the years I have stood firm and always knowingly smiled at my poor sister's woes of working with my father and now I have succumbed. Because I am poor and I need the money and I have no shame.

Tonight, though, when I did my meager share of work sitting at my antique desk with my Christmas tree softly lighting the room, I felt that small soaring feeling again. I was doing work, real work that I'm going to get paid for. And it felt good.