"I am not afraid of storms, for I am learning how to sail my ship." — Louisa May Alcott, Little Women
In September, we celebrate Labor Day to honor everyone who works hard to keep our country going: cooks, cleaners, truckers, nurses, and night-shift workers. The country runs on their tired hands, and most days we forget to say thank you.
Labor Day always takes me back to a holiday weekend of my childhood and what it taught me: it isn't what happens to you but how you respond.
I was seven when my parents bought a motel and restaurant in a small town. The whole family pitched in cooking, washing dishes, and cleaning rooms. For our first big holiday weekend, we decorated with red, white, and blue carnations, hoping to draw a big crowd. My parents had thirty-three dollars in their checking account and needed revenue to keep the business running.
Instead, a gang of fifty rowdy bikers rolled in, armed and dangerous.
They blew through like a front nobody forecasted. They sprayed ketchup on the walls, stuffed silverware into vents, and refused to pay. Other customers saw them sprawled across the parking lot and kept driving. We were crushed that our hard work had not paid off and relieved when they left. No one was hurt. They never came back.
I didn't realize it then, but growing up in a family business taught me things no class or certification could — how to adapt quickly, how to problem-solve, and how to be resilient.
The real story wasn't the gang; it was a family that could have closed the doors and called it a loss. Instead, we swept up the silverware, wiped down the walls, and opened for breakfast the next morning.
The weather doesn't ask permission, but what we do after it passes through is ours to write.
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