Elijah's Coin Chapter 15 Excerpt

Allen Baker had a college degree and a history of short-term employment.

He was the only son of helicopter parents who hovered and did everything in their power to protect him from any kind of disappointment or failure. As a youngster he had played soccer where “everyone wins.” He played baseball where batters were never humiliated by being ruled “out.”

His parents chose schools that didn’t actually give grades because that would cause anxiety and “educational discrimination.” Although he tried many activities, such as piano lessons, karate, and tap dancing, he never stuck with them. As a consequence of his parents’ quest to ensure that he suffered no disappointment, they also made sure he experienced no true success and no excitement.

It is hardly surprising that he fell in with some questionable elements in college. For the first time in his life he was able to make decisions, and, despite the numerous daily calls from his parents, he made some bad decisions—too much drinking, too much partying, and experimentation with pot, cocaine, and ecstasy among other drugs. He was able to keep his grades up enough to graduate in four and a half years. Immediately after graduating from college, however, he moved back in with his parents. It was what kids of helicopter parents do.

Although he had a degree in political science, his resume would show short stints at jobs where he was either overqualified or grossly under qualified. In all jobs he lacked any kind of passion or interest. This eventually led to a huge blowup with his father. He packed up his Toyota Camry and moved out. That was two months ago. In and out of jobs since and nights spent sleeping in his car, he ended up parked in front of my house.

Knowing my own history with Elijah, I tried not to ask too many penetrating questions about how Allen encountered Elijah, but it involved drinking, drugs, and some late-night disturbances of others’ peace.

He was rail thin with curly black hair peeking out from under his ball cap. He was one of those guys who, if he couldn’t gesture with his hands, couldn’t talk at all. He was in constant motion, unable to sit still.

Sometimes he chopped with his hands, sometimes he pointed for emphasis, and almost always he made some kind of motion with his hands to establish each point. We sat on my back porch as I listened—and watched him—recount some of his previous employment experiences. “Entry-level management for a car rental company,” he rambled. “Entry-level management for a home builder, entry-level management for a fast food company. Entry level is a euphemism for people with college degrees who work for people with no college degrees. In most of those places the secretaries really run the place. And for the most part, they could run the entire enterprise. The problem is they have so much resentment for young college guys that they make you so miserable that you just quit.”

“Did you ever think that perhaps you were the problem?” It occurred to me that he had an excuse for every job he left and lots of blame to assign.

He looked at me as if I had just accused him of being the devil incarnate.

“Allen, no disrespect intended, but you can’t go through life quitting and blaming. At some point you have to ask yourself what’s your involvement in all this? The patterns within your job history suggest that the only consistency in all this is you. How are you responsible for what’s happened to you?”

“I am responsible; that’s why I quit.” He threw his hands in the air in frustration. “Those places didn’t value me at all.”

“Allen, I think you are missing the point. I can understand that you have had jobs where you didn’t feel passionately about the work, but your pattern of quit and blame is well beyond normal. Maybe you were trying to fit into an environment that wasn’t right for you, but doing it over and over says more about you than it does about the places you worked.”

“What do you want me to do? Just work in a place I can’t stand?”

“No, but you need to investigate and reflect on what you experienced in order to find the type of work that suits you. What didn’t you like? What do you want in a career? Figure out what you want; don’t just run back into the same kind of position you just left. Let me ask you something.” I paused, trying to be as tactful as possible. “In your job with the car rental company, can you name a single customer you served?”

He looked at me blankly, providing the answer.

“Do you know anything about them—a name, kind of car, kids, spouse, anything about them?”

He shook his head.

“I’ll bet you knew exactly how much you were paid—all your benefits, the hours you were supposed to work. I bet you can name all of the perks of the job—even though there weren’t enough for you. Even if the work wasn’t right for you, you didn’t take an interest in any customer. I’m sure it was the same for the home builder and the fast food company.” He nodded in agreement. “To be successful you have to take an interest in people and in business. The most important person is the customer—not your supervisor, not your boss. In that environment your customers are your fence posts.

Did Elijah talk to you about fence posts?”

“Yeah, he did. I couldn’t understand what he was talking about. What the heck are fence posts?”

“Fence posts are the people in your life. The interactions with them are what give your life meaning. A series of jobs with no emotion and no connection doesn’t make a life. They make an existence, not a life. All your focus is on you. What you get. That doesn’t work.”

Faith stepped out onto the patio, and I jumped up to introduce them. She was wearing one of my old pairs of gym shorts and a T-shirt. Her hair was still wet from the shower, but she had combed it back in perfect blonde rows. The beauty I had noticed when I saw her in the mission was magnified now that she had had a chance to clean up and rest.

“Both of you are looking for Elijah.” They smiled and nodded to one another. “And I guess I am your tour guide.” I didn’t know what I was supposed to do. How much was I supposed to tell them? McDaniel and Davies didn’t really guide me at all. They showed me. They were part of my lesson. Was I supposed to do the same? I felt stuck—like I needed to help them but didn’t know how much to tell. “Ricky still sleeping?”

Faith nodded and sat down. “Been a long time since he was able to relax in a soft bed. I think he’ll be out all night. I hope so anyway.”

“Ricky is her son,” I said to Allen. “He’s three. Faith, we were talking about the different jobs Allen has had. Trying to figure out what he should be doing. Probably the best place to start is with what you enjoy doing,” I pointed at Allen for emphasis, “and how it involves other people.”

Faith perked up. “I love kids. I love taking care of them, watching them grow and learn, and the way their faces light up when they do something for the first time. I just love that. Every day is a new adventure.”

“Have you worked with kids a lot?”

“I used to babysit in the neighborhood where I grew up. Didn’t really seem like work. I think it was more fun for me. Can’t believe I got paid for it. I’d love to be a teacher, but I’ve got no degree or anything, so nobody would ever hire me. But who knows—someday.” Her current predicament caught up with her, and she turned somber. “Guess I’m going to have to find some kind of job to take care of Ricky. Find a place to live. I just don’t know.” Her voice trailed off, and she stared at the ground.

I tried to take the focus off her. “Allen, what about you? What do you really like to do?”

He rubbed his hands together in thought. “I don’t know. I’d like to make a difference somehow. I studied political science in school. People in political science either go to law school or don’t know what they want to do. I was in the latter half. I admire people who create change for people. Not on a one-by-one basis, like rental car managers,” he laughed.

“But like people who address big problems. I guess that’s the political side—policy, fixing societal problems. But I’m just one guy. What am I supposed to do?”

“Well, knowing what you enjoy is a huge step forward,” I said. “From there we can figure it out.” I had an idea, but I needed help from a few others. It was time to call in some markers. I didn’t want to spell it out for them. I needed to do some homework first, but I was suddenly very excited about the possibilities. I started lining up the steps in my mind. Lots of work to do.

The sun had gone down below the tree line and the temperature was beginning to drop. We had been quiet for a long time. Allen seemed uneasy with the silence. He leaned forward with his elbows on his knees. “So are you going to take us to meet Elijah or what?”

I paused for what seemed like an eternity. I thought back to my journey to find Elijah and what it taught me. I was trying too hard to follow rules that I didn’t know even existed—rules that other people applied. I thought about what Elijah said: Observe, Think, Believe, Act. I needed to do what I thought was right—what I believed. I couldn’t be anyone else. I had to follow what I thought—take the action I thought best. There were no rules for this. “Yes,” I said at last. “I’m going to take you to Elijah.” They both smiled and were suddenly at ease. “I’m going to take you to see him.”

“When do we leave? When did you see him last?” Allen blurted out.

“Been a long time. A very long time. But I can take you to him. We’ll do a little road trip tomorrow. I have some work I need to do first.”

“I’m working on a construction crew over at the university. I get off at four. Can we go after that?”

I laughed. “Well, I certainly wouldn’t want to do anything that interferes with your job. Come by here around six tomorrow. We’ll go from here.”

(Excerpt from Elijah's Coin by Steve O'Brien and reprinted with permission from the author).

(Originally published at GoArticles and reprinted with permission from the author, Steve O'Brien).