Lifes Lessons.....

Growing up in middle-class 60's America, it was the style of the time for Moms to teach their girls all the proper etiquette of Miss Manners Manual, as well as housework. Since most Moms were housewives, having a girl meant a lot of responsibility got shared, and you started at a very young age to learn all these tasks. My Mom was no exception.

At a very tender age, I had chores... and my brothers had their share as well; although their's were mostly "man" things. I'm sure when I think about it now, it all makes sense, but back then we were feeling that it was something akin to slave status. All our friends were able to go out and play (probably because their parents chose to have them out of the house), but we were stuck completing chores first... and it always seemed like the mountain never got smaller.

My Mom started me with the simple things like dusting and vacuuming.... than gradually upped the ante with ironing. We didn't have a dishwasher in those days, unless you counted me or Mom... so that became a regular chore along with drying the dishes and putting them away. With a family of six, eating family style at the diningroom table with all the ecrudiments, those dishes added up, and took at least 30-45 minutes out of the evening. Since I hated drying, I enjoyed washing, as it was faster... even if Mom never lined pans with foil when she cooked.
Stuck on food required a brillo pad, strong arm and patience. The special day that my Dad finally broke down and bought a dishwasher for Mom, was a happy day for her indeed.... but it became my regular responsibility to empty the machine. Another chore I balked at most of the time. Now I appreciate it wholly!

Ironing was a task I hated immensely, and still do to this day. My board doesn't come out for any reason now as I am careful to read the fine print: permanent press. With three brothers and a father who had to have clean fresh shirts AND hankerchiefs, ironing was a tedious task. Maybe it was because I had itchy feet and don't like to stand in one place too long, or maybe it was because there was no permanent press and all four males preferred their shirts starched and wrinkleless... I don't know. It could be because everything was wrinkled when it came out of the washer, including pillowcases, and ironing could take hours to do. Mom was pretty smart at it though, she started me off with the pillowcases and handkerchiefs (easy stuff) then gradually worked me into the rest of the clothes. When my parents were first married, she used to iron everything (including underwear), until my Dad released her from her OCD tendencies that everything didn't have to be ironed.... just as long as his shirts were.

Then it was on to sewing. My Mom was a regular sewer, and most to all of my dresses were homemade. In those days we were not allowed to wear pants to school.... if you were female it was required that you wear a skirt or dress, with no exceptions as this was school policy. Now you have to remember, this is the time that mini-skirts were becoming fashion-savy. We lived in Connecticut, which gets it's fair amount of cold weather in the winter. When I reached Junior High School status, we had a campus-style school.... this meant that you went from class to class usually across campus, outside. Considering that only the top half of your body was warm, your legs suffered from frostbite on these trips. We petitioned the school so that they made it fair for girls to wear pants...and won. The only problem was the Home Ec teacher wasn't buying any of it... so if you had her class that day, you had to wear a skirt or dress. As a matter of fact, sewing was a required part in the Home Ec class... but by the time I had taken it, I already knew how to sew, and had been sewing for years.... thanks to Mom. It became a no-brainer to get a good mark in that class.

And, of course, there was cooking. That took a little longer, but since I'm half Italian, big meals were no surprise to me. Since Mom was a better baker, she started me there. Her butter-sugar cookies were a mainstay every Christmas.... along with pecan pie (my Dads favorite) and a host of other goodies. I started with the cut-out and decoration end of the cookies, and graduated to making them by myself by the time I was in 9th grade.... not just for our family, but for neighbors, friends and relatives. With that came banana bread, which I think she just had me make because mine did come out better than hers for some unknown reason.

Making spaghetti sauce was a bit of a challenge, but I managed a few bad ones to finally get to one that could pass ok. This was Moms specialty.... anything Italian, she was a master at it; even though she couldn't cook meat too well... but that was Dads specialty. Mom experimented with different tastes on the side dishes while Dad was a master griller... so we did eat well. To this day, though, my brother makes both of them look like amateurs... now he can cook! Baking, he leaves to me, and insists that Christmas to him would not be complete without Moms cookies.

We were also taught to paint the house, trim bushes, rake the yard and shovel the snow, all on a pretty regular basis. So you see, although we did play and have regular outings with our friends, it was the chores that got us through to being independent persons of society. I think we all were able to contribute to their wishes that we turned out well, able to function in society and keep our heads above the trouble line. One day, many years after my Mom had passed, I sat down with my Dad and asked him how he knew we would all turn out ok. His answer was simply put by telling me that he had a lot of faith and hope. He and Mom had made a pact when they first got married that they were to back each other up, so we wouldn't learn to turn one against the other, no matter the circumstances. Come to think of it, they were a force! We could never go to my Dad to put one over on Mom, as he would always say "what did your Mother say?" I learned to go to Dad first, as he was a little easier... but then he would always say "go check with your Mother first." It was pretty much a no win situation, unless there was no good reason why they wouldn't let us do something anyway... but then we knew better to ask. My oldest brother probably caught more flack then the rest of us, as he was the "test" child for all situations that came up... and I was the only girl, my Daddy's sweetie-pie. By the time of my witnessing my older brothers punishment, my goal was always to stay out of the doghouse as much as possible. Punishment did not look like a lot of fun. Not to say I didn't have my share, but somehow I can't recall too much of it.

So as much as I thought my parents were strict, I've come to realize it was always out of love... even if it seemed a frustrated one at times. They may have taught me basic life skills, and to fly out on my own, confident that I would be a survivor no matter the circumstances.... the best life lesson I learned was I could look fondly back and know they did a great job. To this day, I miss my parents, and am ever grateful to be the person they worked so hard to shape. Character doesn't come easy, but life skill lessons help the rough spots, oh so many times.