They'll Never Forget Their First Jobs

My first summer job was working at a five-and-dime store called TG&Y Family Center in San Antonio. I cut fabric, cut keys, manned the women’s dressing rooms, and ran a cash register. It wasn’t glamorous and not necessarily fun, but it was a job and I was happy to be earning my own money. I was just 16, yet felt more like an adult, and my mom was proud of me.

The day I received my first paycheck, my mom took me out to a nice seafood restaurant to celebrate. I was officially a mature young adult. My mom had done her best to raise me with good values and a good work ethic—go to work on the days and hours assigned and don’t call in sick unless you really ARE sick; don’t be late; do your best; take correction from your boss without taking it personally; try to do a better job today than you did yesterday; be grateful for a job and a paycheck.

I don’t have kids of my own, and for many years I didn’t think I had anyone to pass this work ethic on to.

I was wrong.

When I began Tao of Texas MAI’s Junior Leader program, I envisioned a way for kids to work toward something of value—something that would distinguish them from their peers on scholarship and college applications; something that would help them learn and practice good leadership traits that would one day be worth its weight in copper.

Years ago, I told two twin brothers—who at the time were 10-year-old green belts—that if they worked hard in their new roles as Junior Leaders, one day doors would open for them. And those doors might even be worth money.

As they took their Junior Leader vows, I don’t think they thought much about what this position might one day mean to them. They were likely too busy drooling over their cool Junior Leader patches and new, snazzy uniforms. To be honest, though, none of us knew that six years later, their work as Junior Leaders would lead to their first summer job.

Roberto and Martin Hass are twins, and they used to be tied at the hip. Though they never dressed alike, they did everything together. They both began studying Taekwondo when they were 8 years old. Initially, they were equally whiny on the mat. Both boys could devour an unlimited supply of burgers on the grill. They both idolized their older brother, Juan, and absolutely adored their mother and father.

And I’m sure they thought I hung Ganymede.

The boys were inseparable and sometimes indistinguishable—especially when wearing identical white Taekwondo uniforms. Luckily, Martin’s wider face and Roberto’s soft, brown tail, which he kept long and braided, gave them away.

When they became Junior Leaders, though, the Hass brothers each blossomed in different ways. They began embracing individuality amid a common interest. Roberto knew immediately that he wanted to get a 3rd degree black belt in Taekwondo some day. Martin wasn’t as ambitious; at the time, he only wanted a brown belt. Roberto loved playing in the school orchestra and marching band. Martin liked to cook and create intricate origami.

My first clue that these young men would be extraordinary leaders came on a rainy fall day when I was running late to a class at the Town Lake YMCA. A three-car accident slowed traffic to a crawl. I didn't have a cell phone back then, so I couldn't call and tell anyone that I was stuck in traffic. I hurried to the YMCA as safely as I could, but was still 10 minutes late. When I walked into the dojang, Roberto and Martin were leading the warm-up. They had everything under control.

"We knew you'd be here," Martin said, "so we just got things going for you."

They were 11 years old.

As the years went by, they grew—together and separately—from boys to teenagers. Soft, peach-fuzz stubble began sprouting on their chins. They grew taller and became harder to spar because their kicking distance lengthened. They grew stronger, and no one wanted to hold power bags for their back kicks because it felt like taking a direct hit from a mule. They moved from riding in back seats of their parents’ cars to arguing over who could finally sit in the front seat to—too soon—who would get to drive to the dojang.

There’s nothing scarier than seeing a kid who was 8 years old just the other day drive up and gingerly park a behemoth white minivan. It messes with the mind.

In time, Roberto’s and Martin’s roles and relationships to the world changed yet again. Roberto got his black belt first, but Martin gravitated toward teaching, becoming Tao of Texas MAI’s first Assistant Junior Instructor. To become a Junior Leader, the brothers each had to accumulate at least 36 volunteer teaching hours; to qualify for Assistant Junior Instructor, Martin had to put in more than 150 volunteer teaching hours. He did it so fast that I contemplated bumping the minimum teaching requirements up to 200 hours.

Lower-belt students began looking up to the boys—sorry, men—and the Hass brothers’ popularity reached what I call “rock star status in a flying sidekick world”. The moment the twins entered the dojang, students stopped and watched every step they took. Students honed their peripheral vision skills by watching out of the corner of their eyes as Roberto tied his black belt. They dreamed of the day when they'd tie a black belt around their waist too. They listened to every instruction Martin gave during warm-up, and would repeat his words verbatim when given a chance to lead warm-up themselves. Earlier this week, a Tiny Texan saw Roberto in the hallway and turned to his dad and excitedly blurted: “There’s a Hass brother right there!”

You would have thought Lady Gaga had just entered the YMCA.

Though the twins became their own men, all along, Taekwondo remained the constant. So it was fitting that when youth class enrollment exploded this summer at the East Communities YMCA (we had waiting lists in two of four classes), I requested two part-time assistants. And guess who I recommended for the jobs?

The Hass brothers’ first jobs—at age 16—are to do something they love and have been doing for almost half their lives already. How many adults are that lucky?

The brothers are so comfortable on the mat. It’s practically their second home. The only difference is that now that they’re getting paid, I see them blossoming even more.

East’s executive director asked me the other day how Roberto and Martin were doing.

“It’s interesting,” I replied. “They were always really good Junior Leaders. Polite, patient, compassionate. But now that they’re getting paid, it’s as if they see themselves as professionals. They’ve raised their skills to a higher level. They’re getting more creative in their teaching techniques. They’re really looking…mature.”

I shook my head in dismay, then laughed, then felt a pang of sadness. It was a bittersweet moment to realize that my boys have grown. Roberto and Martin are now juniors in high school. I’ll have two more years with them before they’re off to college and then on to their non-Taekwondo professional careers.

I don’t have kids of my own—true. However, I now have more than 70 students at the YMCA. Before me stand an eager sea of Robertos and Martins, and one day they’ll be looking for their first summer jobs, too. A new path from Junior Leader to black belt to assistant junior instructor at the YMCA has been firmly paved, and it will be interesting to see which students follow in the Hass brothers’ barefoot steps.

In the meantime, I’m carrying on my mom's tradition by taking Roberto and Martin out to lunch to celebrate their first paychecks.

I couldn't be more proud.