Caroline Overington: 'The day I had to let my daughter go.'

So…

Our little girl is fifteen. She’s wanted a job for ages but she couldn’t get a job in California, mainly because they don’t hire 15 year olds there, like they do here.

Why that is, I don’t know.

But anyway, she’s home now, so last weekend, she carefully typed out her little resume, explaining how she has SO MUCH experience, because she’s worked on the sausage sizzle at Nippers, so if you think about it, that’s food preparation experience!

And how she’s volunteered at Our Big Kitchen, making kosher meals for elderly Jewish people who can’t have normal Meals on Wheels; and how she’s a responsible person, very honest and reliable, who just needs a chance to show what a good worker she’d could be!

Then she gathered some references from responsible adults, and then, on Sunday, off we went, marching down to the Bondi shops, where I had to stand back, and not gawp, and not EMBARRASS HER as she gamely went inside all the various stores, saying: ‘Would it be okay if I left my resume? I’m looking for some part-time work.’

Some places said no, because she’s only 15, and she can’t work in a licensed premises, but a few places said: ‘Sure. The manager’s not here now, but I’ll pass it on.’

Then, yesterday – which means, just one day later! – she got a call from the manager of one of those funky little places frequented by hipster dudes with woodcutter beards, serving grain-fed this, and organic that.

‘Hey,’ he said, ‘We got your resume. Do you want to come in for a trial?’

Of course she said yes, and then hung up, and we both held hands and jumped up and down and danced around, and then we sat up practicing how to say things like: ‘Hi! Here are some menus. Can I get you something to drink while you’re deciding?’

And then we raided the wardrobes, trying to find a smart pair of black pants and black shoes and a black shirt, which was just impossible because she’s not that sort of girl, she’s a bit-of-this, bit-of-that, torn vintage, Op-Shop sort of girl, but anyway, we cobbled something together.

And then, at exactly 4pm today, off she went – nervous and happy and keen and anxious and thrilled and worried all at once – through the doors of the Hipster Place, not even looking back.

And there she stayed, for two hours. And her Dad was very good, he only walked past once – and really fast – just to see if everything was okay.

It’s a big deal watching our children grow up. Sometimes we need to reminisce. CONFESSIONS- Your first thought when seeing your new baby. Post continues after video…

And then we sat home and waited. And waited.

And the phone didn’t ring because SHE WAS WORKING, DON’T YOU KNOW.

And then it did ring!

Not ring, but ping.

It pinged with a message that she was finished and it was GREAT and she loved it and even better, at the end of her shift, they said: ‘Okay, great, well, call us later this week, and we’ll give you some more shifts.’

And she’s walking on air.

She’s elevated as the moon.

She’s only tiny, which makes sense, because it can’t be more than five minutes ago that she was in the hospital fish tank with the nurses saying: Hmmm, she’s rather small…

And now she has her first, part-time job!

And I’m so proud.

Go you good thing.

Champion girl.

*Featured Image via Facebook/Caroline Overington- Books