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I’ve always had a great relationship with money, even when I barely had any to relate to. I never feared not having it and never obsessed about what I had.

Like everyone else, I can remember every salary I ever made. I suppose we remember because a salary helps define the value of our service—and, unfortunately, for some people the value they place on themselves.

I first realized I was not my salary when I was 15 and making 50 cents an hour babysitting Mrs. Ashberry’s rowdy kids and cleaning up after she pulled nearly every outfit from her closet every time she got dressed.

Her bedroom always looked like the end-of-the-day, last-call sale at Macy’s, with shoes and brightly colored necklaces and dresses everywhere.

Just before flitting out the door (without leaving any info as to where she was going or how she could be reached in case of emergency), she’d say, “Oh, by the way, dear, would you mind tidying up things a bit?”

Well, yes, of course I did mind, and the first time I “tidied up,” I did such a great job, I thought surely she’d pay me extra when she saw how I cleaned not only her room but the kids’ rooms, too.

She never did. So I moved on and found a job that would pay me more—a job where I thought my efforts would be appreciated. There was a five-and-dime whose name I’ve forgotten not far from my father’s store. I got hired there for $1.50 an hour.

My job was to keep things straight, stock shelves, fold socks, etc. I wasn’t allowed to work the cash register or speak to customers. I hated it. Two hours in, I found myself counting the hours to lunch. Then how much longer before I was off for the day.

At 15, I knew in my soul this was no way to live or make money. I was bored beyond anything I’ve ever felt before or since. I wasn’t allowed to go near the cash register or talk to customers. So after three days, I quit and went to work in my father’s store for no salary.

I didn’t like working there, either, but at least I could talk to people and not feel like my spirit was being drained by the hour. Still, I knew that no matter how much my father wanted it to be, that store would not be a part of my future life.

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