It started with a paper round at 13. Then it was cleaning out a neighbour’s budgies for a pound coin, a stint in a bakery for a pittance, a supermarket job which I’d hurry to after college, and waitressing all through university. All this was before I turned 20.
I always had jobs growing up. My parents couldn’t afford to give me hand-outs – my dad had suffered redundancies during the 90s recession and our finances never quite recovered – so I knew from a young age it was down to me to earn my daily bread.
It made me resilient, hard-working and ambitious. And it paid off. By my mid-twenties I was deputy editor on a national magazine.
I know that my hard upbringing and industriousness gave me that ambition. So why have I not instilled the same virtues in my own kids?
My daughter Adriana is 12 and my son Alex is nearly 17. Far from sending them up chimneys, I have cossetted them from the realities of life. I’ve never said either of them should get a part-time job, nor have I ever asked them to do chores or earn their money. They ask, I cough up. And for a while that was OK.
There’s a good reason too. My husband Cornel is Romanian and grew up in the shadow of communism. His childhood eclipses mine for hard-done-by stories. Whereas I lamented having to do a paper round, embarrassed in my school uniform while richer girls were carted off to dance lessons, he saw people collapse and even die queuing for bread under Nicolae Ceaușescu’s regime.
So it’s safe to say neither of us were treated like a little prince or princess growing up. I think that’s why we clicked so quickly when we found each other.
It’s also why we give in to our own offspring so readily. When I was pregnant with our first, we made promises that our kids would never have to scrimp and save. We didn’t want them to suffer, work several jobs or worry about their clothes on non-uniform day at school. We knew that pain and uncertainty, and we didn’t want our children to go through it.
But in trying to protect them, we’ve created two kids who – as lovely and hard-working as they are – have no idea of the real world.
To be fair our son is now looking earnestly for jobs. But not because he has to. He knows he has us to fall back on. My husband and I didn’t have that, which made us all the more ambitious.
When we went on holiday to Dubai last year, our kids thought nothing of pointing out clothes they wanted and we – ever keen to erase our own childhoods – would say yes.
In fact, we never say no. Ice creams? Yes! New designer trainers? Of course! Holidays every year? Check!
But every now and then, resentment simmers. I watch my kids chilling on their iPhones and iPads, and recall how desperately I printed CVs at the local library and traipsed around shops asking for work. They’ve never had to save for anything, and my youngest’s Christmas list this year is as long as your arm.
We often remind them of our backgrounds. My husband often starts with “During Communism…” which my kids know is a precursor to a long rant and they quickly scarper.
Ditto me chiming in with, “When I was doing my paper round…” Cue eye rolls and excuses to leave the room. You might ask: why not change things? Well, it’s the guilt you see, and the desire that they never have to worry as we did.
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I’m not all “woe is me”; I am aware many kids do this today. I am merely comparing my own childhood with my two who, let’s face it, don’t have to worry where their next bus fare is coming from.
We do sometimes worry about their own ambition. Thankfully our eldest is dedicated and studious at college and wants to do well. But I do wonder about the old adage that “hard times create strong men”, and if we should make things just a little harder for them.
Yet we carry on. Ultimately, my urge to cosset and protect them from the harshness of life has won out. But in doing so, I’ve created a rod for my own back.
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