Work

   Does anyone know why we work?  I have been pondering this for some time now.  Is it because we need money?  Status?  Things?

   Well I have come to the realization that we work because as kids we were told we had to.  I can remember being told that as part of the family I was responsible for doing my part.  My part consisted of cutting the wood (kindling especially, as it is hard to start a wood stove with a chunk of wood the size of your leg), weeding the garden and cleaning one room of the house.  Now the rooms of the house we had the choice of were the kitchen, living room or the (YUCK) bathroom.  In our house the choice went by seniority.  The person that got out of bed first got the first choice.  Guess who never ever got up before anyone else.  You got it, ME.  Sometimes I got lucky and one my sisters would want to go somewhere and the fastest room to clean was the bathroom, so I got a reprieve.  Then my mother got tired of the yelling and fighting, so there was a rotation started.  That stopped all the grumbling and griping about having to do the same room over and over. 

   Then there was the weeding of the garden.  You had a least 3 rows each to weed.   This was not too bad later on in the season, but early on when the new plants were just coming up, it was touch and go sometimes as to whether you were pulling weeds or the plants that you were going to be eating.  Of course, Dad was always around to tell us to stop pulling out the new plants.   Funny how when you are a kid, it is work and as you get older, you acutally go out and find a place to dig up and plant each and every seed with loving care.  You spend hours planting, weeding, and watering.  Sometimes I look back and wonder what all the fussing was about.  Now I enjoy digging in the dirt(reverting back to my childhood again).

   The wonderful outcome of all this work was the allowance that you received for all your hard work.  Now in this day and time, children would think we were being used as slaves for very little pay.  To us it seemed like big bucks.  We received $ .50 per week for all that we did.  It would take us to the movies, get us a Big bag of penny candy and a soda at the theater.  We were rich.  If you got $1.00 a week, Oh My God, your parents were rich.  It was even better when your friends worked at the theater, then you got in for free.  On Saturday afternoon, after cleaning and weeding (or as we thought of it the slave fest in the morning), we would get dressed and head to town for some fun.  Everyone would meet at Ken's cafe and drink cherry or lemon cokes and smoke in the back booth, thinking that no one could see you if you stayed back there away from the windows(every parent knew where their kids were.  There were too many spies back then).  It was a time when small things made you happy. 

     By 5 or 6 o'clock you were tired from all the fun you had during the day and well on your way back home for dinner.  When asked what you had done all day, the answer was always "Nothing".  Those were the fun days.  No cell phones.  No cars.  You walked everywhere you went.  Your friends all met you in the middle of town, so no one had far to walk.  You made fun where ever you were.  Sometimes I wish those days were back.  No one locked their doors or cars.  Kids were kids.  Fun was simple and the world was safe.  That's it.  I quit.  I want the old days back.  Swings, climbing trees and Hide and go seek.  The old days, just a memory, but what a memory.