Poolside January 11, 2010
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I was recruited by the local pool to teach swimming lessons and to lifeguard part-way through my contract with the YMCA camp. It was an altogether fantastic experience. Most of the employees were my age – just barely 16 and had recently graduated from the National Lifeguarding Service.
I remember that first day of staff training. Our boss – the aquatic director – gave us a talk about workplace etiquette, keeping in mind that it was a first job for many of us. He said, “I expect you to work hard, to show up 15 minutes early for your shifts and to be prepared. If you are sick, or unable to show up for any reason, that’s O.K. I will NOT however, receive ANY phone calls from your mommies or daddies. You are adults now, and I employ YOU, not your parents. You will speak to me directly, and cancel your shift.”
In retrospect, lifeguarding was the ultimate preparation for a lifetime of positive work ethic. Most of the staff had completed their lifesaving training at the same facility and it was but another step in a well-documented career plan to attend facility training and secure a job there. That same pool educated, trained, hired, retrained, motivated, promoted, referred and in some cases fired, each one of its employees. This facility dealt in young people, and took the responsibility very seriously. It was an educational organization which ultimately hired its students, and recognized that its involvement with these employees was at a very transient time in their lives.
I learned while working here that I loved educating, was meticulous about progression, enjoyed working under pressure, had incredible amounts of patience for children and thrived upon routine.
I enjoyed many achievements while I was there and some of my proudest moments include developing and implementing lesson plans for three levels of the red cross aquatots programme and working with a 6 year old autistic boy and taking him through a level in record time.
I continued working at this location until I left for my second year of university. I attended retraining after my second year of school but ultimately decided to accept a position elsewhere. My supervisory staff at this location were instrumental in helping me to secure a lifeguarding position in Hamilton in advance of my arrival there.
Y.M.C.A Whitchurch Riding Camp January 8, 2010
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Ahh, the beginning of my short career as a lifeguard and my FIRST REAL JOB.
The day I obtained this position, was the day Revenue Canada learned my name. I was 16 and I hadn’t yet sewn my National Lifeguarding Service badge onto my swimsuit. I was fresh out of “training camp” and ready to prevent the world from water-related tragedies.
Maybe a little too ready.
I found this position through a friend who was working as a counsellor at this camp, teaching kids to ride. It was offered at a family farm come Horseback Academy and the former lifeguard was being promoted to camp co-ordinator so they needed someone new to watch the pool.
Being the eager beaver that I was, I accepted every opportunity that came my way, including bus marshall, gardener, water activities co-ordinator, morning circle leader, pool maintenance and above all LIFEGUARD.
I guess it was a little much for my first job. I freaked out three quarters of the way through my contract when the owner criticised my gardening skills and left shortly thereafter.
I let the counsellors get away with murder. They were supposed to be helping to watch the kids but usually left during pool-time to grab a break and a cigarette. Most of the kids couldn’t swim and watching 20 kids at a time all day was stressing me out. I worked every weekday from 5am until 7pm and inevitably cracked under the pressure.
That being said, I certainly learned a good deal:
- how to ride, feed, groom horses
- how to clean and maintain pools
- job application and interview process
- how to work independently
- how to deal with co-workers, children and parents
Altar Service January 7, 2010
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Now, I had been dreaming of joining the leagues of altar boys since I was very young. Those boys were all friends of mine and their role as altarboys gave them so many cool opportunities. I watched them leave school in the priests car to “serve a funeral” or “serve a wedding” and during school masses (I went to a catholic school) they got to sit right next to the priest and ring the bells throughout the service.
So whenever the priest visited our school for yearly religion classes I made sure to ask him, “why can’t girls be altar boys?” and I always got the same answer, “you see, were any of Jesus’ disciples girls? no.” and it frustrated me, but I just accepted that it was true. Despite my now more knowledgeable catechesis, at that time it was something I was unable to dispute, so it was to my great surprise to discover that sometime around 7th grade, the POPE himself had declared that GIRLS could perform the same role as an altarboy so long as they were called Altar SERVERS instead!
It was even MORE surprising, when my own 7th grade teacher, turned to the class one week before the school mass, and asked if any boys, or “on second thought, any girls” were interested in being the altar servers for the upcoming service. I threw my hand up as high and as quickly and as frantically as I ever had and sure enough, my teacher chose me saying, “I didn’t know that you were interested in being an altar girl, I guess we’ll have to speak to the priest, and get you trained.”
Oh, but I remember that first day – the teacher had obviously waited until the day-of to mention this little, nuance to the priest and when I walked in on their meeting he was busy shaking his head at her – then I noticed her gesture in my direction and definitely heard him say, “OH Jennifer! Oh, ok. Yes. Leave her here, and I will show her what to do”. See? He already KNEW me and it turns out I was the perfect choice to break ground in this unchartered territory of girls on the altar. I had already spent years faithfully serving opposite the boys, and he had seen me there even more often than any of his existing altarboys with their hockey and whatnots that constantly caused their absences.
So it began and I made my weekly transition from choir area to altar boys row. It wasn’t long before I had served three years faithfully attending often two or more masses a week and the priest announced I was to attend the Archdiocesan cathedral in downtown Toronto to receive my Cardinal Carter Altar Server Medallion (a new special issue had to be forged for upcoming and ground breaking girls like myself, the bronze medallion had previously been cast to read “Altar Boy Medallion”).
What an honour, received not without due hardship and dedication. In those early years faithful fundamental catholics would change lines while standing before the priest to protest my presence whenever I held the communion patent. First, altar boys weren’t allowed to be scheduled at the same time with me. Then other altar boys parents wouldn’t let them serve with me. In the beginning I was only given certain partial duties of the altar boys. I couldn’t go into the sacristy at certain times. People would stop my father and tell him what he was having me do was just plain “wrong”. They were sure that we were supporters of women priests – when the truth is, my poor father really had nothing to do with my becoming a server, outside of his ordinary support for anything that encouraged the development of my responsibilities and regular attendance at sunday mass.
The truth is, that priest became more like my good uncle than anyone else I knew. My father worked closely with him during the construction of the church and always used his skills to tend the maintenance needs of the church and rectory. That priest taught me multiplication and division, responsibility and work ethic, gave me administrative experience in the office and taught me so many other life lessons I cannot possibily list them all.
I stood by him right through to his death. As he became older and sicker he would have trouble keeping track of his place in the mass. He would repeat parts, forget parts and fall asleep during readings. I helped him stay on task, reminded him gently and subtly, avoiding any instances that might cause him any embarrassment.
When he finally died a lot of people had a lot of opinions and our parish cycled through a number of serious changes. Eventually we received a priest who was interested in the development of our youth community. He bestowed upon me the position of head altar server and trainer – a position that I took very seriously. Recognizing an opportunity for change and development, I immediately began a recruitment and training campaign. Because of the ongoing building project and dropping confidence in our poor old priest, our altar server numbers had plumetted to a single digit figure, but within a month I had that number back up to over 30 available and willing servers.
I staffed them 6 per service on a rotating schedule according to requests and to encourage flexibility and retraining. I involved them all in their own learning by educating them about the history and meaning behind their duties. I encouraged personal development and introduced all the new recruits to the medallion programme so they could know there were rewards for their hardwork and dedication. I also planned social outings, carpools, contact trees and seasonal gatherings.
I continued altar serving and training until I left for university in 2002, at which point I entered the McMaster University catholic community and continued my service in other ways.
Church Folk Choir December 27, 2009
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I’ve already mentioned that our family was active in our local church community. My father was an active member of the parish folk choir. It was a great group of people. They played bluegrassy style hymns complete with banjo and tambourine.
When membership began to dwindle my dad stepped up and began taking on an organizational role. He assembled binders of repertoire for all the musicians and created a system of corresponding transparencies for the overhead projector to improve participation among the parishioners.
Being Dad’s sidekick, I naturally looked for a way to participate, so I was assigned to be the transparency changer.
I loved the responsibility! The stress of keeping the slides in order, and of knowing when to change them at just the right moment so as not to interrupt anyone’s singing. Knowing when to switch back and forth to remind the people of the chorus’ lyrics made me proud. And when the other children started taking an interest, I relished in being able to show them the ropes.
At home I grabbed my sister’s old child-sized guitar and learned to play along with my dad while he rehearsed. Most of the music was written using only 4 to 6 chord combinations so I caught on very quickly.
I loved that group and it’s music. I loved being so close to the action during the service and I loved being right in the line of sight of all of the parishioners. We had to make sure that we were behaving in a way that set an example for the rest of the church, a responsibility that I took very seriously.
Despite my enjoyment of these activities, I had my eyes set on something else, something more sacred and secretive happening on just the other side of the altar.
The Fundraising Committee December 10, 2009
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My community church outgrew itself.
Thus began the drama that would change the community from what I knew it to be, to what it is today. Our involvement was due to my father’s professional expertise in engineering, the trades and consulting services. But enough about the actual building committee – his position as chairman and the lack of interest from other members of the building committee, was what required our participation in the fundraising committee.
Well, it required HIS participation in the fundraising committee, MY OWN participation was mandated by the fact that I was only 14 and went wherever he did.
Our big events were the 25 km walk-a-thon, the parish picnic, community auctions, a gala night and selling christmas cards.
Even though I was the youngest member – albeit the ONLY member under 40 – I put in my equal share of the work. I canvassed the neighbourhood every year for sponsors for the walk-a-thon. I worked with the nurse during the walk-a-thon as a route marshall and first aider. I stood at the booths outside the church year-round and sold christmas cards and registered auctions on items. I stood on the ladder and painted the giant thermometer sign red as our funds increased. When we needed a pamphlet insert, I designed it on the computer and printed out 600 copies. When the secretary was absent and we needed minutes published and distributed, I typed up my father’s handwritten notes, addressed all the envelopes and put them in everyone’s mailboxes. When we needed a ticket solution for raffles, I was the one who showed my dad a ticketmaster stub and insisted we could do it from home. We did! I did!
I gained some serious experience and skills from my time on this committee – but for what would I use them? I was still too young to have a real job – and if I used my skills at school, my teachers accused me of plagiarism. Things were looking just a little too well done.
