The Ruling Class
September 29, 2005

The Joliat children number 6, but the majority (girls) ruled. As it turns out, ruling was a minor blessing and a major curse.

My brothers had 2 jobs in the family circle: take the garbage out on Thursday night, and cut the grass in the summer. Clearly, they were the uncrowned Kings of the Castle.

“Ruling” in the sixties meant that the girls had first dibs on the bathroom before school in the morning. That was about the only fringe benefit of being the majority.

It primarily meant in those pre-feminist days that we shared the “glories” associated with a family of 8. In the Joliat household, the first girl to hit the back door from school peeled 5 pounds of potatoes. The next to arrive set the table for dinner. Dish duty was a challenge. A calendar hung on the wall with weeks assigned for this heinous duty. As 7 family members would scatter, the assigned sister would clear, rinse, wash and dry the stuff we ate off of. Pans were left until last, so as to keep the water cleaner. Counter tops were cleared and rinsed. The next task was to sweep the floor, squish the Formica dinette into the corner from whence it came. The finale was to set the table for breakfast in the morning. Then, the lights were turned out and the kitchen was CLOSED. There was no post- dinner eating in the Joliat house, no TV on school nights, no phone privileges. With dinner at 6, dishes at 6:30, kitchen closed at 7:15, all there was left to do was go upstairs and study or torment one’s siblings. In the late 60’s we got a dishwasher, and the washer of the week would have to come downstairs and unload the dishes so the machine was ready for breakfast duty.

Showers were scheduled and timed for nighttime so as to keep the bathroom serviceable for 6 kids in the morning. By 11, when the news came on in Detroit, we were all asleep, and the house was clean and ready for a new day. My parents were geniuses to dispatch us to such a boring upstairs that we studied or went to bed. We were all victims of Stockholm syndrome, because we rarely complained.

In addition to the dishes, the girls shared all dusting, vacuuming, bathroom cleaning, and laundry. We did about 4 loads daily, especially in the diaper days. And Lord, did we iron. In the pre-perma press days, that meant sprinkling all the shirts, sheets, hankies and stowing in a plastic bag. Then there would be fake urgency-“ we need to get the ironing finished before the shirts mildew!”

There were mountains of clothes. Somehow Mom made it seem an honor to do Dad’s hankies. She would coo and encourage us to move up the linen ladder to sheets, pillowcases, and at last, shirts. We were idiots, she was a genius, and soon the 30 uniform shirts had moved from her weekly “to-do” list to ours. We lived for summer, where there were no kids’ uniform shirts, and Dad went to short sleeves. Yet when summer came, she had us dust and vacuum the entire house daily before we could mount our bikes and zoom away. I imagine she thought it should be part of our repertoire of domesticity. On the other side, she was very territorial about her baking and cooking. We were not schooled in the mysterious way should coax an 8 inch tall cake from one recipe, or how to make 12 dozen cookies in an afternoon. My sisters have self-taught themselves these skills, but I have flunked culinary arts. In fact, as I look around my home, there is evidence that the entire world of housekeeping is not my universe. I am ok with that.

The universe I do hold dear to my heart is the family. Last weekend I fled to New Buffalo for a “sisters” weekend. Our domestic output was limited to toasting bagels and one pot of coffee. Although we have scattered to different places and routines, our memories will bind us forever. We don’t even argue about who had it worst. (I presume it was Jenny, since she started folding diapers at 5, and was the full time babysitter for years to come. As lastborn, I also presume Marie escaped most of the primitive housekeeping for the masses. That leaves Judy and me in a tie for domestic drudgery, but I was like the Artful Dodger at chore time. It shows in my home! )

Fueled by red licorice and peanut M & M, we shopped, ate, laughed and crafted. Mom has been gone 5 years, but she was right there in her girls. It was a joy to be “home” again, if only for 40 hours.