"Your worth isn't defined by a position"

 

Your worth isn’t defined by a position

“At 58, they told me I was too old for the job… and for the first time, I wasn’t ashamed to cry.”

I spent my whole life working in an office. I wasn’t a boss, but I wasn’t invisible either. I filed, organized, helped the newcomers. I wasn’t the heart of the company, but I was a steady piece of it. Then one day, they called me into a five-minute meeting and told me I no longer “fit” the company’s vision. They handed me a letter, gave me an awkward smile… and showed me the door.

Walking home with a cardboard box in my hands was more humiliating than any failure I’ve ever experienced. My kids were grown and living their lives. My wife hugged me, but didn’t know what to say. I sat in the kitchen for days, wondering what to do with so much empty time. I felt discarded. Broken. Invisible.

One ordinary Saturday, I went for a walk and passed a small neighbourhood school. I saw a woman struggling to move some heavy desks. I helped her without thinking. She asked if I was a volunteer. I said no, but I had time. She told me to come back Monday.

So I did.

And I kept going.

First I repaired chairs. Then I sorted supplies. Then I started showing some kids how to use an old computer. I wasn’t paid. They didn’t offer me a contract. But every time a child said “Thank you, teacher,” something in me lit up.

Today, I’m 61. I still go to that little school. I don’t care about fancy job titles or business cards anymore. Because I finally understood: your worth isn’t defined by a position—it’s defined by what you give when the world thinks you have nothing left.

Sometimes, you get thrown out of the wrong place… just to arrive at the one where you truly matter.

– Ramiro

Put the chain on me too, Dad

 

Put the Chain on Me Too, Dad

A story that speaks to every parent’s heart

Once there was a little boy who lived with his father.

Every morning at home was rushed and tense.

“Wake up!”

“Why are you so slow?”

“Fix your hair!”

“Take your juice, and don’t spill it!”

But the boy often spilled it.

And every time, his father shouted,

“You never listen! You never do anything right!”

The boy didn’t talk back.

He just stayed quiet, picked up his things, and left for school.

But inside, he felt sad… and a little scared.

At school, he didn’t laugh much.

He watched other kids smile and wondered why he didn’t feel like that.

He wasn’t naughty. He wasn’t loud.

He just stayed in his corner, quiet and alone.

One day, his teacher asked the class,

“What does your father do for work?”

The boy didn’t know what to say.

That evening, he gathered courage and asked his dad,

“What do you do at work?”

His father replied,

“I train dogs.”

The boy thought for a moment.

“What do you teach them?”

His father answered,

“I teach them to obey. To stay calm. To protect people. To guide the blind. To be loyal, brave, and patient.”

“Wow,” said the boy softly. “And how do you teach all that?”

“I put a little chain on them,” his father said.

“I walk beside them. I correct them gently. I speak softly. And after that, I give them love so they don’t feel scared. It takes a lot of patience.”

The boy’s eyes filled with tears.

He looked at his father and said,

“Then… put the chain on me too, Dad.

Teach me like that.

Be patient with me.

Don’t shout.

Correct me gently.

Hug me afterward so I know you still love me.

I’ll learn. I’ll be better.

And one day, if you can’t see… I’ll be your eyes.”

His father didn’t say a word.

He just pulled the boy into a hug. A real one.

And in that moment, something changed.

Not through yelling.

Not through rules.

But through love.

Moral of the story:

Children don’t need to be shouted at to learn.

They need patience, kindness, and love.

Correct them gently.

Show them they are safe, even when they make mistakes.

Because love isn’t loud… it’s shown in small moments.