Washing Dishes

Our dishes were interesting. Dad had been given some aluminum (gold tinted on the outside) 12" round dinner plates from his parents. There were four of them. They (his parents) ran the motel/diner in Buellton and we lived in one of the rooms (had a kitchenette) while dad searched for a job. We were there for several months (remind me to tell the story about the field I inadvertently set afire).

There were also about 3 oval pewter plates (these were thick-about 1/4" thick) that were about 12" wide and 8" tall. I have since found out that neither of these are good things to use for dishes-because of the aluminum that gets into your food. But hey, they didn't know that back then so, we survived anyway AND the plates never broke.

I recall being about 9 years old and was learning how to do the dishes. I was supposed to be working with Bob (it was his chore and I was supposed to help-do what he told me to do). Well, it didn't take too long before I wasn't doing things the way he wanted (I seriously don't know if I just didn't understand his instructions/directions or if he just didn't communicate very well--I'll let you decide--he's the one that's been twice divorced) but he used to punch me in the stomach when he wasn't happy with me. I may have been a whiner when he asked me to do something and maybe he got frustrated and then he'd punch me. Or maybe he just felt it was his job to toughen me up.

Whatever the reason-it used to hurt a whole lot when he'd punch me in the stomach. He'd tell me not to say anything but one time it hurt so much that I was crying louder than normal so mom & dad could hear it over the TV and dad investigated by calling us in to him.

After 20 questions it was determined that Bob was wrong in what he was expecting and in his punching me and it was also determined that I was capable of doing the dishes and because it was considered women's work, it was now my chore.

As Onslow would say on Keeping Up Appearances, "Oh, nice."

So I washed dishes every night, every week, every month until after we joined the Church (I was age 16) and Barbara was then expected to take a turn once a week. Except for one week.

I don't recall how it happened but Bob did something that made dad really, really mad at him and as punishment he had to wash dishes for a week.

So for one week, after dinner was over, I was expected to do what Bob had been doing for years (at this point) and what mom and dad, Barbara and Chipper had been doing-when dinner was over, just get up and walk away from the table.

Man-o-man, I felt so odd, so out of place. That was one weird feeling. I was actually glad when the week was over-probably as much as Bob was. He got yelled at several times during the week because he wasn't doing it right or well enough. When he was getting yelled at I felt so bad for him. Sometimes I felt my parents expectations were so unrealistic.

It took me about 2 decades before I got to the point where I actually enjoyed doing dishes. I still do-but I sure like using the dishwasher best.

While I was in college my honey took over doing the dishes and he hasn't quite let it up. There's so little else of daily chores he does, I have just kind of let him take over. He seems almost put out if I take over the dishes. Funny, funny, funny.