Life
by Shara Robertson
After the dishes are washed and the sink has been rinsed out, there remains in the strainer at the bottom of the sink what I like to call, for now, "stuff". Any rational intelligent person would say it is simply a mixture of food particles to big to go down the drain. Composed of carbohydrates ,fat, fiber, bits of protein. Dinner Dandruff.Also a person might simply state the all this "stuff" has been sanitized again and again. First by being cooked, then once again by the hot water and detergent in the sink. No problem right?But any teenager who has been dragooned into washing dishes knows this explanation is a lie! That stuff at the bottom of the sink is toxic waste- a danger to ones health. In other words its about as icky as icky can get.It is only one of the many reasons you have such a high respect for your mom, because she would reach into the sink with her bare hands-BARE HANDS!-and pick up that lethal gunk and drop it into the garbage. To top that, I saw her reach into the wet stinky garbage bag to fish around looking for a lost spoon-BAREHANDED-some kind of mad courage. She eventually found it, mixed in with some scrambled eggs from the day before and a little veggie soup from dinner. I almost passed out when she handed it to me to rinse off. No teenager who wanted to live would have touched that without being armed with gloves, face mask, and stainless steel tongs.Never mind what mom or dad or any adult would say to me. I knew that stuff in the sink strainer was lethal and toxic. It would give you leprosy, or something worse. If you should ever accidnetly touch it, you must never touch any other part of your body until you had scalded, soaped and rinsed your hands three times. Even worse, I knew that stuff could congeal and mush up and mutate into some living thing that would crawl out of the sink during the night and get loose, maybe even come after you.Why not just use rubber gloves you ask? Rubber gloves are for sissies. Besides mom used her bare hands, remember?
Once after dinner I complained to dad that I bet Jesus never had to wash dishes. He agreed, but wisely said that if his mother had asked he would have done it gladly. I scowled and turned back to my sink of ickiness.Dad, however, would take a plunger to the toilet when it stopped up with even worse "stuff". I wouldn't even go into the room when he did it. I didn't want to know.
I imagine giving a speech to a high school graduating class. You could ask how many of them want to be an adult? Independent, on your own? I'm sure all would raise their hands. And then you could give them a list of things grown-ups do:
-clean the sink strainer
-plunge the toilet-wash your stinky uniforms
-watch your kids do donuts in the new car while driving down the hill
-put the live worm on the hook for you
-change diapers, clean pee and poo off the carpet
-Clean ovens, grease traps, and dutch oven pans
-clean up the thrown up spinach on the floor-carry out the garbage
-bury the dead pets when they get run over, or killed by shara
-scrape the doggy doo from the grass
-change a flat tire
-ride in the back of a truck 20 miles with strangers to get some gas for the suburban
You can tell those graduates when they can do all these things they will be adults. Some may not want to face the truth.For some it maybe even worse. When your a kid you think that if they really loved you they wouldn't ask you to take the garbage out. When you join the ranks of grown-ups you take out the trash because you love them. That old cliche hold true, being an adult is dirty work, but someone has to do it.Thanks mom and dad :)
You gotta love it. She reminds me of our Grandma, Beverly J. Robertson, who wrote up in Cody, WY for years. Her column sounds so much like this. I certianly would subscribe to it.
Thanks, Shara
