When I was 15, my mom announced at the breakfast table that I had a job interview that morning. She said there was no getting out of it because it was all arranged. Dad would drive me to the new bakery that her friend's son was about to open in our hometown in northern England.
Next, the woman showed me the personal note my mom had mailed with my application, addressed to the business owner and introducing herself as his mother's friend. 'Congratulations, John,' she wrote. 'Wishing you all the best with your new business venture.'
I cringed, barely believing Mom had tried to pull so many strings to get me the job. The manager had my number, and I didn't get hired. They had good intentions, but it was an example of helicopter parenting at its worst. They wanted to instill a work ethic in me, but it backfired.
A few months later, I secured a part-time job by randomly asking for shifts at a local café. The owner said he admired my initiative, which boosted my bank account and self-esteem.
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