Forever And A Day
So the parents are celebrating there thirty second wedding anniversary today. If I were one to panic about aging I would probably pop a vessel connecting this anniversary with my upcoming thirty second birthday. Since my thirty first birthday is still relatively fresh, I will save that anxiety attack for the proper occasion, some time shortly after Thanksgiving.
Right now I will contemplate the thirty two years of marriage. By today's standards that is one heck of a landmark. "What is the secret?" one may ask. I think I've got it figured out.
My parents never fought about chores so long as I can remember. The old man was never one to be all macho about what is ladies work and the crazy lady never expected the old man to accomplish feats of wonder after spending the vast majority of the day driving all around the southern and western suburbs. Why didn't they fight about these things? As soon as their children were old enough to change cat litter, mop a floor or wash a dish the house work became the responsibility of the children. My older brother folded laundry. I was cat litter and bathroom man. I don't remember what my little brother did. (Probably paid me his G.I. Joes to do his chores and then blackmailed me to get the toys back.).
So for the vast majority of my parents adult life they have had at least some of their children living with them and the children were expected to do the chores. (I think there may have been a span of three or four years when they actually managed to get rid of all of us, but during those years they had a cleaning woman who would come once a week and take care of the house cleaning). They are basically in the habit of not doing anything around the house.
Take this as an example. The crazy woman will pull the trash bag out of the kitchen garbage and sit it by the back door to go out to the trash. She wont take it out (claiming vision and stability problems) or clean the dish that she scraped into it or anything else for that matter. The old man will be walking out the back door to get to his car (which is parked right beside the alley garbage cans) and he will totally ignore the bag. The bag could be overflowing in the kitchen an rather than take it he will yell for me to come into the kitchen and "do something about the garbage."
Now I'm not working so I don't complain. A little bit of house work is a small price to pay for a roof over the head and free food. (and internet access and a cell phone and all the other perks). I just wonder what it is going to be like when I eventually re enter the workforce. I remember the last two times. I moved out when I was 19 because I was working full time and they wanted rent and chores. Later after working in the same place as my mother for an entire year (with no way out of that job) and having not only chores but every weekend planned for and the crazy lady in her pre heart attack high stress days, I got out of Dodge so fast people's head were spinning. The only thing to do was head down to a college town and see how long I could make the money last (three months. Cigarettes and beer were expensive. Food not so much and the rent was $75 a month).
So I've been testing things. The crazy lady has been on me to vacuum the house for almost a week now. I've blown her off. It wasn't nice, but she wasn't very insistent and forgets about it as soon as she locks into t.v. viewing position for the day. It probably could have gone another week before she went absolutely nuts, but the old man has company coming over tomorrow morning and plans to get me up early to vacuum. (Not that it will improve the rug all that much. A day with an industrial shampoo machine might not do much. The carpet needs to be replaced. And probably the old stuff should be burned). The was just step A.
Now one might ask, "what is step B? What are the objectives? What is it you are ultimately trying to achieve?" I haven't got to step B in the planning yet. My objectives aren't very clear and ultimately I think I'm trying to figure out if I will be able to continue living under this roof once I re enter the work force.
In Summary: My heart is warmed by the example of a thirty two year marriage. Congratulations to my parents. Their secret was to have children as forced labor. I can make anything about me if I think about it long enough.
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Right now I will contemplate the thirty two years of marriage. By today's standards that is one heck of a landmark. "What is the secret?" one may ask. I think I've got it figured out.
My parents never fought about chores so long as I can remember. The old man was never one to be all macho about what is ladies work and the crazy lady never expected the old man to accomplish feats of wonder after spending the vast majority of the day driving all around the southern and western suburbs. Why didn't they fight about these things? As soon as their children were old enough to change cat litter, mop a floor or wash a dish the house work became the responsibility of the children. My older brother folded laundry. I was cat litter and bathroom man. I don't remember what my little brother did. (Probably paid me his G.I. Joes to do his chores and then blackmailed me to get the toys back.).
So for the vast majority of my parents adult life they have had at least some of their children living with them and the children were expected to do the chores. (I think there may have been a span of three or four years when they actually managed to get rid of all of us, but during those years they had a cleaning woman who would come once a week and take care of the house cleaning). They are basically in the habit of not doing anything around the house.
Take this as an example. The crazy woman will pull the trash bag out of the kitchen garbage and sit it by the back door to go out to the trash. She wont take it out (claiming vision and stability problems) or clean the dish that she scraped into it or anything else for that matter. The old man will be walking out the back door to get to his car (which is parked right beside the alley garbage cans) and he will totally ignore the bag. The bag could be overflowing in the kitchen an rather than take it he will yell for me to come into the kitchen and "do something about the garbage."
Now I'm not working so I don't complain. A little bit of house work is a small price to pay for a roof over the head and free food. (and internet access and a cell phone and all the other perks). I just wonder what it is going to be like when I eventually re enter the workforce. I remember the last two times. I moved out when I was 19 because I was working full time and they wanted rent and chores. Later after working in the same place as my mother for an entire year (with no way out of that job) and having not only chores but every weekend planned for and the crazy lady in her pre heart attack high stress days, I got out of Dodge so fast people's head were spinning. The only thing to do was head down to a college town and see how long I could make the money last (three months. Cigarettes and beer were expensive. Food not so much and the rent was $75 a month).
So I've been testing things. The crazy lady has been on me to vacuum the house for almost a week now. I've blown her off. It wasn't nice, but she wasn't very insistent and forgets about it as soon as she locks into t.v. viewing position for the day. It probably could have gone another week before she went absolutely nuts, but the old man has company coming over tomorrow morning and plans to get me up early to vacuum. (Not that it will improve the rug all that much. A day with an industrial shampoo machine might not do much. The carpet needs to be replaced. And probably the old stuff should be burned). The was just step A.
Now one might ask, "what is step B? What are the objectives? What is it you are ultimately trying to achieve?" I haven't got to step B in the planning yet. My objectives aren't very clear and ultimately I think I'm trying to figure out if I will be able to continue living under this roof once I re enter the work force.
In Summary: My heart is warmed by the example of a thirty two year marriage. Congratulations to my parents. Their secret was to have children as forced labor. I can make anything about me if I think about it long enough.
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posted by Rich Rosenthal II at 2:26 AM
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