So I've been working on a posting in my head for a while now. It all started like this:
I made dinner the other night- a stew if you can believe it- and it tasted so good. We were all sitting at the table slurping the warm goodness, enjoying each others company, trying to make August focus on good things that had happened to him that day. When dinner was over Trey announced that the kids would be cleaning the dishes and the table this evening. Nice! I retired to the living room and within a few minutes, Trey joined me. We lounged on our comfy couches and I proclaimed that this was how it was supposed to be. The kids were supposed to help make the kitchen clean. It's how my folks raised us and August and Hazel are now officially old enough to do most of the things needed to clean the kitchen.
It reminded me of an essay I wrote a long time ago. I know I've posted some of my old writings here before, but I can't remember (and am too lazy to look through last years postings) if I've had this one up before. So here it is, I call this one JOBS:
***Taken around this time but missing a few key players...Rick is not in this picture***We all had our own jobs. Being one of 10 often made that part of home life a bit easier. The list of jobs rotated among the children. Either Mom or Dad cooked, but we secretly hoped it would be Dad; he made the best enchilada’s. Mom, however, cooked most of the time. Her specialty was pizza, and she made the crust from scratch. We hated it, but no one had the heart to tell her. Years later she would agree with us; Dad is now in charge in the kitchen.
My job that night was to sweep the kitchen floor. This task was not the best one on the list, but it sure beat washing ten sets of dishes. I scanned the floor as I approached the table. It was already a mess with some dried tomato sauce crusted in the corner looking suspiciously like blood. Must have been Richard’s job to sweep the night before.
Richard was the first child my parents adopted. He came to live with us when I was a year old. Richard was with us for 10 years before the adoption became official. He was originally from a Hispanic family and he is mentally handicapped. The court system wanted to make sure that a Spanish speaking family wasn’t available before they would allow us to officially adopt him. Richard was non-verbal.
Dad called Kathy for the fourth time to join the rest of the family for dinner. My Dad always prayed before every meal and the whole family had to be present before we began. We waited as Kathy slowly walked down the stairs. Finally, everyone was seated, crowded around the table: Scott, Richard, Kathy, Dawn, Matthew, Jamie, Virginia, Cindy, Rick, Mom, Dad and myself. Dad said the prayer. He was usually pretty good about keeping it short, thanking God for the day, for the family and for the food. Every once in a while he prayed for something specifically, if one of us had a test he would pray that we would remember what we studied. Dad was sure to give us the ‘talk’ when it came to praying about an upcoming test. He reminded us that God can refresh our memory, but not pop things into our heads out of the blue. Therefore, we were always expected to study. Believing in God never got us off the hook.
In our house dinnertime was a social event. Everyone was expected to attend. We all had our jobs to do: one of us set the table, one of us cleared it, someone swept the floor, someone washed the dishes, someone else dried them, and someone else put them away. These jobs were rotated throughout the children, we even had some nights off. The lucky kids with nothing to do would gloat that they had to do a chore last night but were going to read a book while we finished up the kitchen that night. We were a well-oiled machine. Some of us needed a bit more oil here and there, as the kitchen floor proved on that night. In the long run, things were pretty smooth in our house.
Everyone was talking at once. Scott was getting ready to move to Tennessee for college. Rick was excited about his new job switching from Domino’s Pizza to Dolly's Pizza . Kathy was her melodramatic self and was huffing and puffing at everyone. Richard babbled all through dinner, but for the most part we understood. Sometimes his language was a bit rough. Matthew and Jamie were young then, they just looked around and smiled at all the activity. Dawn was a watcher, it took her a while to get started, but once she opened her mouth she was on a roll. Mom and Dad were asking questions around the table. Everyone was trying to get their two cents in. I talked about how much I hated middle school. I could not wait to be done.
Scott was going to be gone in just about a month. I wasn’t looking forward to his departure. I always felt close to him. Looking back I realize that I was just his younger sister. He picked on me about the amount of make-up I wore, the clothes I chose, and the friends I had. He was a good big brother. I didn’t want him to leave me. Kathy caught my attention when I noticed that she was wearing one of my sweaters. I couldn’t stand when she took my things without asking. I asked her where she got it, she responded by informing me that she had gotten it from my closet. Dad must have known we were about to argue because he threw a piece of corn at me.
It bounced off my head and landed in my milk.
Mom gave Dad a knowing glare. Dad simply shrugged his shoulders. He succeeded in defusing the argument; he also succeeded in starting our weekly food-fight. I picked up a chunk of meat loaf and lobbed it toward Dad, only to miss him and hit Rick square in the forehead, a shot I could not have made if I tried. Rick stared, dumbstruck and made the official announcement. The fight was on.
Food was flying. The walls were like a Pollock canvas; splattered colors everywhere. Dad was always very active in our food-fights but it was very hard to pin him down. He was sneaky about his launches. He would look at one person and hit someone else, his college baseball days prepped him well. Mom would always threaten us. We were never to involve her, which just made it more fun to accidentally get her. The best part of our food-fights was watching Richard. He would sense the impending fight like a prairie dog sensing impending danger. His head would lower towards his plate, one arm encircling it to protect it from oncoming shrapnel. He would not throw his food, which he saw as a waste. Richard was at the table to eat, not waste. Dad would inevitably attempt to grab some of Richard’s food only to have his hand swatted away.
Once all the food was either eaten or thrown, it was time to clean up. The person who had to clear the table had quite a task ahead of them, that night it was Kathy. She complained the whole time. Scott washed the dishes, Richard dried them and Rick put them away. I had to make the floor appear as though there was never a food-fight that night, which was easier said than done. Some night’s we could get away without mopping. This was not one of those nights. I began by sweeping around the chairs, trying to get under the table without moving things. Dad unfortunately came into the kitchen while I was doing this. His tip for the night was to move the chairs out of the kitchen so I could sweep under the table effectively. Dad was always good for these tips. He was also known for calling whomever washed the dishes back to the sink. He would inevitably explain that washing the dishes included cleaning out the sink when you’re done. You’d think after hearing it every night, we’d remember. Maybe we just wanted Dad to give us some one-on-one attention.
Once the kitchen was clean, our parents would inspect it like drill sergeants. We would then disperse throughout the house. Most of us ended up downstairs to watch TV. My parents watched TV with us; it was a family event for the most part. We watched programs like Northern Exposure and Moonlighting. We were not allowed to watch channels like HBO or MTV. We saved that for times when our folks weren’t around, when we were sure we could get away with it. This meant that only certain siblings could be around. Dawn was not one of these siblings. She was a timid girl who would tattle on you without intending to. It was hard to be mad at her so we just didn’t do anything ‘wrong’ in front of her.
Mom and Dad would eventually disappear after a show or two and we would smell the sweet aroma of cookies or pudding. They did this for us often. It was our special thing -- warm dessert after a job well done. They would call us up, one by one. The serving system was a bit different, as Dad would give us a bowl and tell us to go down and give it to one of our siblings. Everyone served and was served to. Everyone was involved in our family, regardless of the activity. Whether it was a food-fight, cleaning, or eating, everyone was involved. My parents worked hard at seeing to this.
Being part of a big family had its drawbacks, but our job ultimately was to fit in and to get things done. I think my parents had a hard task; they had to prepare us for the future. They gave us jobs, responsibilities and a sense of purpose, in order to accomplish this monstrous undertaking.
