On my sixteenth birthday, my mom picked me up from school, and before stopping for lunch at my favorite Mexican restaurant, we stopped by the bank to open up my own personal checking account, which came with my first debit card. The feeling of having my own card to swipe at checkout, whether it be at the mall or a restaurant, filled me with an overwhelming feeling of independence. It was at that moment that I had my very first taste of adulthood.

As soon as I slid my freshly engraved debit card into one of the many empty slots in my wallet, my mom turned to me and said, "Well, you're 16 now; now you're old enough to get a job." My heart skipped a beat as the notion I had created of a stressless adulthood in my mind immediately vanished. I was quickly consumed by the idea of working every day for the rest of my life. But I knew that by saying this, my mom wasn't trying to rid me of my childhood or force me to think about finances at such a young age. Rather, she was simply trying to teach me the value of a dollar -- which I quickly learned.

That summer I applied for a job at a local amusement park less than a mile from my house. I was placed in the food and services department and spent most of my days being splattered with hot oil every time I dropped raw dough in the frialator. That, along with the undesirable humidity, always had me counting down the minutes until my next break. Those four months sprouted a certain type of motivation and determination I didn't even know I had. It inspired me to work hard and do well in school so that I didn't have to spend every summer counting how many scars I had accumulated from the splattering oil in the frialator.

When school started up again that fall, my dad reverted back to offering me my $20 weekly allowance, which I always spent on school lunches. When the school year passed and it was summer again, my parents offered me a job working for the family business. From that month on, I was known as the Albini Family Funeral Home's newest office secretary.

When I worked at the amusement park, I gave it my all. I greeted every customer with a smile and friendly attitude, and listened and tended to any customer complaints of incorrect orders, like receiving bacon bites and chives instead of sour cream and nacho cheese on our world famous baked potatoes. I even gave the little amount of money I made in tips to kids who came to my stand and didn't have enough money to buy an ice cream cone. It wasn't my favorite job, but my parent's always lectured me, "If you don't give 100 percent into everything you do, why do it at all?"

Working at the funeral home took being kind to customers to an entirely new level. Instead of dealing with camp kids who didn't have enough spare change for an ice cream, I was dealing with families who had just lost a loved one. From the bottom of my heart, I wanted to provide these families with the most honored and respected service for trusting us during such a difficult time. And when I was having a bad day at work because I got in a fight with my boyfriend the night before, or just woke up on the wrong side of the bed that morning, my mom never failed to remind me to shake the attitude because everyone who walks through our doors is having a much worse day than we are. Receiving the wrong coffee order at the coffee shop on your way to work in the morning is meaningless compared to the heart-wrenching pain of losing someone close to you.

Working under my dad's management, I learned a lot about getting work done under pressure in order to meet deadlines. At school I might put off homework until the next morning so that I can eat dinner and catch up on the latest episode of This Is Us, but at work, I've conformed to getting all of my work done before calling it quits. Collectively as a staff, we've skipped lunch more times than we've enjoyed because if we don't meet obituary deadlines for the newspaper, then that family has to suffer yet another loss. If we put off ordering the desired casket for a given service because we decided to run to the bank and deposit a check, then that casket may not be delivered on time, which is just unfair to any grieving family. We have to put ourselves in our clients' shoes. We can't prioritize our needs when we are prioritizing these families because, at the end of the day, the only thing we're mourning is a skipped meal or unread text message, which I'd take any day over the loss of a loved one.

When you see a family walk through our doors with tears in their eyes, trembling with lost hope, and watch them leave with a bag of acknowledgment cards and old photographs, thanking us for our services with hopeful smiles their faces, you know that the work you do is entirely worth the while. I find the most sincere pleasure in helping others overcome their hardships, and helping build an honorable reputation for my family's name is almost just as satisfying.

In any interview I've had since I first began working at the funeral home, I've discussed in great detail my love for working for my family's business. I'm forever grateful for the opportunity I've had at such a young age to take on such an emotional and character-building position. It has taught me how an employee should act -- not just in the funeral business, but in every job I have from here on out. Be kind, stay humble, and be someone's reason to smile.