I was never a fan of doing chores. I did them but didn’t like it. Luckily, I could handle everything that came my way and knew what the consequences were for failing to follow through. The consequences were worse than the chores. The lesser of two evils.
My main job was keeping my room clean. That meant making the bed every day, which I still hate to this day. It looks nice when it’s done, but I don’t like to do it. My childhood bed was a single, so I could easily reach across the bed to pull the covers up. It was topped off with a quilt my Grandma Tebo made. It wasn’t fancy, but it kept me warm.
My parent’s room was right next to mine so all they had to do was open it a crack to see if I’d accomplished the daily task. During the school year, I made it before I left. In summer it had to be done before I could head out to hang out with my friends.
I didn’t have a lot of clothes, so they didn’t pile up. We had a laundry chute in our bathroom, which was right across the hall, so taking care of my dirty clothes meant putting them down the chute. I stuffed them in each time I took a bath and dropped them down most every night. If they got stuck in the chute, I pushed them down with a yardstick. Taking care of them each night was easier than dealing with a pile.
During the winter I shoveled the snow from our sidewalk and driveway. In the summer I mowed the lawn. At the time I thought we had the largest lawn on the block. We had a power push mower. The gas-powered machine had a single rotating blade. The blade did the cutting, while I did the pushing. We kept the gas in a one gallon can, and when we were out, I rode my bike to the station about four blocks away. I never bought more than twenty-five cents worth and I always filled the can
I had to trim the lawn too. Trimming meant getting down on my hands and knees with a pair of clippers cutting around the edge of the lawn. If I cut it close enough, I got away with trimming every other time I mowed. Trimming in the front was more important than the back. The front was what all the neighbors saw. My dad wanted neat and tidy. If I didn’t do it right, he gave me a chance to do it again the following day.
One year we added a long front porch that ran from the front door, sideways under the picture window, to the driveway. Dad hired the work to be done which included ripping out the original porch and sidewalk that ran from the front door to the street sidewalk. Dad decided to tear out the entire front lawn and replace it with Kentucky Bluegrass sod. The sod added another chore to my list. I had to pull the clover that found its way into our new yard. I sat on the front lawn and ran my finger under the spreading plant to find the roots. If I didn’t get the root, the clover would grow back. Of all my chores, I hated this the most. It was never ending.
When the 1,000,000 raspberry plants behind our garage, produced fruit in late summer, I had to pick at least “a bowl” a day. I chose a cereal bowl. When Dad picked, he used a mixing bowl. I’m happy he let me select my own.
In my early teens I learned to wash our kitchen walls. This was before exhaust fans became the norm. Grease built up on the walls above the stove, but I had to wash the entire kitchen. I got so good my dad hired me out to wash my Aunt Bern’s house. Spic and Span, warm water, and an old t-shirt were my tools of choice.
I also had to wash the outside windows while Mom washed the inside. We used a solution of vinegar and water. We wiped the windows down with old newspapers. The windows were spotless. When Mom bragged me up to Grandpa Barner, he hired me to wash his windows too.
I got paid when I worked for others, doing chores around our house was just part of living there. My two sisters and I each got an allowance, but doing chores wasn’t tied to the cash we received.
After I got older, I learned the things I “had” to do were given to me to develop a sense of responsibility. My parents didn’t give me jobs to lessen their load, but rather to teach me a lesson. In a family, everyone pitches in. That’s what makes it a family.