Child Labor

courtesy of lib.unc.edu

Apparently, the children of the neighborhood have decided that I look like a good boss.

In the past week and a half, I've been approached by three of them (one boy, two girls), asking if maybe I had a job for them?  And would they get money, or not?  And what kind of work would they do, if they did work for me?

I'm not opposed to child labor.  I worked a lot when I was a kid: berry picking in season, odd jobs in the yard, babysitting, working as a farm hand.  Working is good for the soul.  It gives you purpose, and some pocket money.  It is much better than sitting inside, glued to some TV set or video monitor, twitching your thumbs on a control pad of some sort.

However, I do start to feel a bit like Fagin when the under twelve set start coming by in multiples, asking for a job.  Maybe there's a rash of playground gambling debts?

Anyway, I will likely employ one or two of them helping in the gardens this weekend.  The boy lost interest quickly when I mentioned the word "weeding".  "I don't do that," he said hastily, gunning his bicycle and heading for the hills.  It made me wonder what work he would consider doing.  Breaking rocks?  Digging holes?  Delivering mysterious packages to men in dark glasses?  But the two girls seemed delighted at the prospect of helping to pull weeds and plant some seeds.  Maybe I can talk them into raking mulch or turning some compost...or would that be too harsh?  Stinky, perhaps, but do-able?  And then there's the question of how much to pay them.  Two dollars an hour?  Three?  That would have made me happy as a ten year old, getting paid to play in the dirt.  I never know with kids these days, inflation and all.  It all depends on if they actually come and work or not.  No pay for loafing about, that's for sure.

I suppose I'll have to whip up something for break time.  Instead of Dickensian gruel, I think I'll go for oatmeal cookies (without raisins).