Children Helping

I have vivid childhood memories of sitting on the damp concrete steps leading down to the kitchen door with a paper bag full of peas, lima beans or corn and a metal bowl.  It was my job to husk the corn or shell the peas or beans.  I remember learning to break the backs of the pods and scrape out the peas, along with the satisfaction of the perfect split of the pod and anticipation of the size and number of peas hiding inside.  Peas were fun (in the scheme of things -- being a child I didn't like these chores), but lima beans were really hard.  Even as I child, I loved lima beans, so it wasn't about the vegetable, but about how difficult it is to get lima beans out of their tough shells.  They don't break open neatly like peas.  I also learned how to iron a pillow case when I was six, was expected to make my bed every day, set the table, even sometimes help with dusting, weeding, washing the car, mowing the lawn, or sweeping the terrace.  I imagine these expectations were pretty typical for children in my baby boomer generation.  But they are not what we expect of our child and, while there are some parents whose resolve I admire enormously, I don't think that my husband and I are unusual in our relative lack of expectations.

There are a lot of reasons for this.  At least in my household, we have a wonderful woman who cleans and does laundry, relieving us family members of duties that my mother primarily, with some help from my siblings and me, performed.  It's also because as parents we have less time and patience for enforcing unpleasant responsibilities.  And I should be very clear -- I did not like doing chores and like any normal kid I resisted, procrastinated, employed avoidance tactics, so while I may have nostalgic recollections of shelling peas, I was none too happy at the time.

Over the last eighteen months or so, I have decided that we need to demand more from our now 15 year-old son in the chore domain.  I'm sure you'll say this is a little late to get started, but it's still better than never.  He has always had to set the table for dinner, but there is much more he could do.  It would be good for him -- he would learn how to do things that would be useful to him and helpful to me.  Plus there's the possibility that he could feel accomplished.

So several weeks ago, I was making pesto.  I love pesto, but pinching all those leaves off the stems can only be described as tedious.  Suddenly, I thought, my son loves pesto, too, so why doesn't he come help me.  He did so reluctantly, but we got through the process much faster and had time to chat while we worked.  It was a much pleasanter experience that working alone.  While he wouldn't admit it, I would like to believe that when he ate the pesto (which he puts on everything imaginable from pasta to hamburgers to sandwiches), that felt a small sense of satisfaction.

As my campaign has progressed, he has gotten to be a reasonably good dishwasher which means his father and I can relax a little after dinner.   He even took laundry off the line and folded it quite well the other day, saving it from an afternoon squall.  Now, if I can only get him to pick his clothes up off the floor. . . .

4th of July Parades

I grew up in a town where no one would have considered the 4th of July properly celebrated without the parade.  This was quite a formal event with high school marching bands, the volunteer firemen (we had two competing brigades) and police in dress uniforms, veterans groups, and  fraternal organizations all marching in step.  Then we moved to the next town east, and there the parade was a community affair.  Everyone dressed in red, white and blue, children decorated their bicycles with streamers, and dogs were expected.  The leisurely walk through winding lanes allowed for plenty of conversation among neighbors and friends.  The parade spilled onto a large lawn where the Good Humor truck failed to entertain squirmy children while a local dignitary gave an appropriately patriotic address. 

As an adult, I have lived in New York City, Southern California, north central Connecticut, and suburban Maryland, and I can tell you that a good 4th of July parade is hard to find.  However, I can happily report that on Block Island, they have a 4th of July parade that perfectly combines the two  versions I grew up with.  Anyone can create a float for the parade and entries range from a very professional looking replica of the ferry that transports people and goods to and from the mainland to vintage cars and trucks to a distinctly home decorated trailer whose intended theme was obscure.  This being the 350th anniversary of European settlement on Block Island, historical and birthday themes prevailed.  The entries are judged, with the Grand Prize awarded to a large group amusingly depicting important events in the Island's history: the cows who came off the ship at Cow's Cove in 1661, the Native American who greeted the cows, the arrival of tourists two hundred years later, and finally the 1994 founding of Froozies, the smoothie shop which sponsored the clever float.

The parade started at 10:30, but people claimed prime viewing spots with beach chairs as early as 8:00AM.  The assembled crowd, many waving flags and dressed in red, white and blue, cheered as the floats slowly progressed along the parade route led by, yes, the trucks belonging to the volunteer fire company.  Bagpipers in kilts, a fife and drum group  in shorts, the Norwich (CT) Free Academy marching band, a motley rock band, and a drum circle interspersed among the floats, members of the local American Legion post, and a very small contingent from the Rhode Island National Guard, played appropriately rousing music.  And don't forget the requisite unicyclist whom we saw arrive on the first ferry. 

This was a community event, wholeheartedly enjoyed by all generations, tourists, summer people, and Islanders alike.  When we stopped by a nearby bait and tackle shop later in the day, John Swienton asked me where we were watching the parade -- as it turned out, just a few hundred feet from where the Sweintons "always" watch the parade.  Likewise, friends from Dallas, renting a house for a week made sure they came to watch.  We legitimately worry about a disintegrating sense of community in the US.  But no one was "bowling alone" on Block Island this morning as we joined together to celebrate our nation's birthday with creativity, humor, and a little solemnity.  Maybe we should have more parades.