"The label you give yourself cannot impact external forces that are not motivated by your own psychology or influenced by a third party's pre-existing consciousness of you. We are all presented with reasons to struggle which come from completely external forces; to pretend that one is not struggling is either arrogance or an admission of defeat. To admit that one is struggling is a sign and a source of strength." - Evan A. Baker

Monday, June 7, 2010

Signed, Sealed, Delivered

When I was a wee little girl, I loved helping my dad. He would indulge me, showing me how and why he did each thing and let me help, sometimes doubling or tripling the amount of time it would take him to complete a task. Once or twice a month I would help him with bills. My job grew and grew until I, at seven years old,  opened the bill, said the amount, and while he was writing, signing and recording each check, would stamp our return address, lick the postage (BLECH!) tear the stub off the bill, collect the check from my dad, stuff the return envelope, and lick it. (BLECH!)

I loved helping my dad with this job, but absolutely hated licking the envelopes and stamps. The envelopes were bad enough, with their large area I had to taste, but stamps, although smaller, were way worse. They were disgusting. So gross. What did they put on those things?! When the United Postal Service added sticker stamps, Hallelujah! I was one happy little girl.

I just sent off 20 more headshot submissions to managers, and as I was affixing the postage, was so incredibly thankful for stickers.  And for a dad who took the time to teach me how to manage money when most would think I was too young to understand. That's love.

1 comment:

  1. Stamps are rather yucky. Though I once licked a sticker stamp. Also not tasty. Ooops.


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