A Legacy of Industry

Last week, when James and I were discussing the plumbing stuff, he said he was glad that I was home to problem-solve and take care of everything. I appreciated the nod, but asked, "What else was I supposed to do?" James said, "There are some women who would have called me at work and had me come home because they couldn't handle it." I just laughed at that. "I am too much of a control freak. I didn't want to wait for the service people; I sure as heck wouldn't have waited for you to come home!"

This weekend when I was mowing the yard, I started thinking more about this, and I realized something that I've probably taken for granted most of my life: My mom, and really both of my parents, modeled something for me so well that I've never imagined life any other way: Industry, proficiency, and labor by the person for whom it's most convenient.

First, I will say that my parents would probably label themselves as conservative. Spiritually, their marriage is definitely complementary. But in practical, every day life, I think they're more egalitarian.

I don't remember too many household emergencies from when I was a kid (ahh, the innocence), but I can't imagine my mom pacing the house, unsure of what to do until her man got home to tell her. I do remember our car breaking down one day when we were out and about, and that Mom (in the days before cell phones) had my sister and me walk hand-in-hand with her down a very busy street in the rain for a couple of miles until we got to where she knew my grandfather was working.

If she were upset or overwhelmed, she didn't act it. Although it might have been a clue that one of the songs she sang as we walked was "Whistle a Happy Tune." We passed a bunch of businesses where I'm sure she could have gone in and called my dad a work, but that's not what we did.

And Mom was always doing *something.* It used to annoy my sister and me: We'd be watching a TV show or a movie that we wanted Mom to see, and she'd half watch while ironing for extra income or grading papers or cleaning up. We just wanted her to SIT DOWN and watch television. But I think that "go go go" mentality she inherited from her dad, my Pepa. I have it in fits and spurts.

Mowing my yard on Sunday, I recalled that both of my parents had stained green mowing shoes. I remember one would mow, and the other would make a glass of iced tea to deliver at about the half-way mark.

Although my mom most often made our dinner, it was largely a function of the fact that she got home an hour or so before my dad did. But he cooked, too. And baked. He took us girls places.

My dad's domestic proficiency was rooted in loss, unfortunately. His mother passed away when he was 9 years old. His parents, realizing that a man couldn't count on a woman to be there all of the time (a pretty progressive idea in the late 50s/early 60s), made sure that he could do laundry, sew, iron, cook.

I have memories of my dad doing laundry and cleaning, and supervising our half-hearted attempts at cleaning as we grew up.

During a stubborn period of unemployment in the late 70s, my dad ended up as the stay-home parent for a time when my sister was in kindergarten and my mom started teaching again. It never occurred to me to scorn a man's being the primary caregiver while the woman went out to work. Instead, I was intensely jealous that my sister got to spend the first half of her day with Dad, who walked her to school in the afternoon.

(This was a fundamental difference between my sister and me: I was morning kindergarten all the way. She was totally afternoon. It's a wonder we're even friends.)

The family in which I grew up operated on a "whoever sees it and can do it, that's who does it" fashion. I'm sure my parents both sometimes felt like they were doing the most or hardest work. That's only natural. But I have memories of both sitting at the kitchen table, balancing the checkbook (kids, ask your parents what that means). Both sewing backing onto a banner to affix to a hot air balloon envelope. Both being the "mean" one. Both being affectionate. Both encouraging. Both modeling. Both explaining.

And so, I suppose it's only natural that I would presume to be able to do things, and then to do them. I can change my tires (unless the jack breaks, and then thank goodness for Progressive Roadside). I can mow and weed-eat the yard. I can troubleshoot tech. I can problem-solve on the fly.

I don't need a man to help me exist. I don't need a man to prop me up.

That said, I am immensely grateful to have a man who is a partner to me, very much in the way I saw my parents' partnership. He has strengths and passions that supplement and complement mine. And where neither of our passions or strengths reach, we each just do as needs to be done. I mow the yard while he plays with our kid. We both win. He earns the money while I make sure the roof doesn't cave in around here. We both win. He holds the ladder while I hang the lights, largely because of his recent physical limitations, but also because I think he likes to look at my butt when I'm climbing. I guess he wins that one.

I forget where I was going there.

Anyway, I'm grateful to have had an upbringing that took for granted that I could do things, and that if I could, I probably should. I'm grateful that contributing to a well-running household was seen as an asset, and one that could be done at any time in any function by any person involved. It has served me well both when I didn't have anyone to help, and has both made me a blessing to my husband and grateful to have a partnership like this.

Thanks, Mom and Dad