jobs of my childhood

I did household chores from an early age, for which i was given a modest middle class allowance. There were no gender distinctions made, so we all vacuumed and dusted, mowed the lawn, picked up dog poo, did our own laundry, vaccuumed the pool, and cleaned bathrooms and dishes. I was pretty agreeable with all of these, perhaps preferring the outside work a bit. Except for the poop detail. We had schnauzers, so the poop was small. I remember explaining to my parents that since i was missing one color band in my vision, the one that differentiated shades of brown and green, i was genetically unsuited for picking poop out of grass.
They were singularly unimpressed.
My first real job was babysitting, around the age of 12 or 13. It was okay, and i did it sporadically for a year or so. My only strong memory of it was changing the diapers of our neighbors' baby, Megan. I remember looking at her little genitals with curiosity and wonder...and being mock-stunned years later when my brothers told me she was now a hottie.
The first real, regular job i held was paperboy, around the age of 14-15. I delivered the Bucks County Courier Times to about fifty houses. I can't remember how i got started, it may have been through parental prompting. But that paper route became a source of quiet pride and happiness. I was up around 5AM. I opened the bundled newspapers which were dropped at my curb, and put them into my huge cloth shoulder bag. When it rained, i had to plastic bag them. Every day of the week but Sunday, i could carry them all in one load.
I jumped on my bike, and was off. Most of the customers were fine with the paper going into the mailbox, but a few asked me to walk it to the porch. I developed an intimate relationship with each box, cherishing the singularities and acoustic qualities of each. I zipped around the neighborhood in the stillness of pre-dawn, before there were any lights on in most houses. I came to love that dark stillness. It was just me and the world, all alone. When i set out, the bike balance was clumsy from the weight of the bag, but as i progressed, my ever-lightening load lent speed to my wheels. And every morning, just as i was finishing my last few houses, the dawn would break.
I can't remember how much money i made, but for a suburb kid with no responsibilities, it was plenty. I probably spent the lion's share on Star Wars figures and cards, and the occasional Heath Bar. Once a month, i collected money. I had a little bundle of cards, clasped by two silver rings. The one or two clients who paid by mail were in red, and the rest green. On the green cards, i would track payments. I got an occasional tip or holiday card from a customer, seldom had complaints, and mostly enjoyed the collecting. But the best part was the solitude and silence of those mornings. Some of my more "well-off" peers seemed above a paper route, but i knew that they weren't to be envied. I took pride in always doing the route myself, no matter how bad the weather. Mom or Dad only ever drove me around one or two times, in some particularly bad snowstorm. I remember years later when my brother Jeff had the job, he conned them into driving him more often than not. Perhaps he wanted to be what my "well-off" peers had been. It made me sad. I knew he was missing something.