I redid the student assistant employment application and “schedule of availability”, which is where each student indicates which days and hours she can work. I’ve wanted to redo those for a long time now, but haven’t been able to because the soon-to-be-former evening circulation supervisor took ownership of all things student assistant related, and never shared with me.
Now it’s all mine. My baby. I can develop a new format for training new student assistants; I can handle the hiring, disciplining and firing; I can redo forms whenever I want.
Then why was I so sad to find that a joke post-it note, stuck on my monitor months ago by my almost-ex-employee, was crumpled up and thrown away this morning?
I know he’s got to be pissed off at me. I came into his little corner of the world and … well, was myself. I sought out ways to improve old methods, I cared for things that were in disrepair or neglect. I changed his little corner around, and I moved in.
I know he’s got to be pissed off at me because he needs to leave this nest. It’s been his home, his school, and his workplace for five years now, and he’s got to let go, get out, move on. Kids get angry with their parents, defiant, pushing off and away from them, using them as focal points for what they will not be. I am just a surrogate parent, as his manager. I realize this.
Then why did I pluck the little crumpled-up post-it note from the trash and tuck it away in my desk? I don’t even like him, and I’m getting sentimental and anxious.
Perhaps it’s not just him who’s growing up.