Taking Care of Business

It’s two o’clock in the morning, and I’m working—well, I’m writing, but I’m about to start working.  No one else in the company I work for is working right now; in fact, I don’t think any of them are even awake.  I feel a bit like the last elf in Santa’s workshop, still working long after all the other elves have gone home and gone to bed.  And I love it.

I’ve had a full time job for a little over a year now, which I realize is an unimpressive feat to most people.  But, as I’ve pointed out before, I am not most people—my past didn’t exactly lend itself to having and keeping a job.  My resume as of a year ago read something like this:

• Worked at Sears for a summer in high school.
• Worked in telephone sales for a summer in college.
• Earned a degree in English Literature.
• Published a few articles and poems.
• Stay at home cat mom.

Who would hire me, given that resume?  My dad.  That’s right—I work for our family business, and my dad is my boss.  Dad and Adam, my brother, started the business, an internet-based company that sells USB-based software solutions, about five years ago.  They recruited Monty to be their software development engineer, so Monty and I moved here to this little town from the city.  A year ago, Dad hired me to put our software on USB sticks, using a process called duplicating, or duping.  I work nights, duping load after load of USB sticks.

A year ago, I wouldn’t have known the difference between a USB stick and a Popsicle stick.  Monty is the one with the technical engineer’s brain, not me.  I am a right-brained creative thinker.  My mind wanders; I tend to forget where I am and what I’m doing because I’m thinking of something entirely different.  So when Dad offered me this job, I didn’t think I could do it.  But Dad believed I could, so I took the job, and I ended up loving it.  I get to work nights, which is perfect for my writing schedule.  My cats are my coworkers.  And the repetitious nature of the work allows my mind to still take its occasional flights of fancy.  I’ve proved to myself that I can keep a job and do well at it.  And I’ve learned a great deal about the ins and outs of a family business.

Here in our little town alone, there are several of us working for the business—Monty, me, my brother, his wife, my Dad—Mom is our CSO, or Chief Spiritual Officer.  She is the spiritual warrior that keeps the business moving and all of us employees somewhat sane.  My sister, who still lives in the city, works for us, as do two of my nieces.  We also employ a few very close friends.  Dad, who spent his entire career in management, now manages this motley crew of family.  He’s figured out how to utilize the very unique skill sets that we all have and has turned this disparate group into a well-functioning unit.  Each of us has the pleasure of using the gifts God gave us to contribute in our own way to the success of the business.  From software development to customer service to packaging and shipping, we do it all.  We are the very best kind of team—family.

I love knowing that the work I’m doing is a small part of making life better for the rest of my family, not just me.  I love working with Dad—getting to see him in work mode, brilliantly using his leadership gifts to lead our family every day in our individual roles.  I love being a part of a team that is made up of people that I admire, respect, and just happen to be related to.  And I love the struggles, the victories, the prayers, and the successes that are part of the dailiness of business.  We succeed, we fail, we learn, we grow, we pray, we celebrate—together.  Navigating all of that with my family has been a master class in the importance of faith and commitment to each other and to the business.

I know the joy of working with my family, but I’ve also heard the warnings about mixing family and business.  Are there arguments?  Of course—we’re all different, and none of us do our work in the same way.  There are also some issues with authority:  Adam is convinced he’s my boss.  He isn’t.  He needs to be reminded of this quite frequently.  And Dad and I have been having the same argument since I started working for him: I think that I should be given a budget for pajamas, since that’s what I work in.  Dad continues to turn down my request, calling it ludicrous and inane.

Dad’s pajama objections aside, I feel so blessed to have this job—to work at home with my boys while contributing to my family’s welfare.  If you had told me five years ago that this would be my life, I would not have thought it possible.  I’ve gone from being a full-blown addict—undependable, non-functioning, and completely self-absorbed, to being a full-time employee who takes pride in my work and wants it to be the best it can be for the sake of my family.  Dad saw that I was capable of that when I didn’t see it in myself.  He took a chance on me, and in doing so, he made me want to take a chance on myself.

Speaking of which, I need to stop writing and get to work.  It’s time to put my hair up, turn on some rap music, and take care of business:  I have quite a bit of USB sticks to dupe before my boss stops by to pick them up.  Just so we’re clear—that boss is Dad, not Adam.  And if that boss of mine happens to be reading this, you should know:  I’ll never stop asking for pajamas.