Circumstances in life sometimes creates the need.

My paternal grandfather was a tailor, so my brother and I never for a moment thought it anything ‘sissy-like’ at all. I was the real benefactor of his skills, since he created one of kind pinafores for me. My paternal grandmother, fell ill with scarlet fever after my dad was born and was either in a hospital bed or in bed at home for more than a year, which meant that my grandfather now had a dual role, which continued for many years.
One of the fondest and funniest memories I have of my dad is cooking his version of some awful fish and potato soup dish, expecting the rest of us to dive in and eat every last drop with relish (no doubt learned from his dad). We applauded his efforts but ‘allowed’ him to eat the entire over-sized pot. My brother picked up where my father left off and when not working (he’s a teacher) performs culinary miracles in the kitchen.

Finally, one of the most intriguing ‘dates’ was with a gentleman, who was a pilot by day and by night…he donned a chef’s cap and apron for me and proceeded to make me a Cesar Salad from scratch, made all the more appealing when he wheeled a serving cart in front me while I sat comfortably on his sofa. This was followed by a sumptuous meal. I was only permitted to sit, dine and enjoy.

p.s. Charles, I employed the nickel and dime technique to whacking flies, bees and creepy crawly things that found their way indoors. There were months when the boys made out like a bandit.

In junior high, I taught myself to iron clothes. As my mother was bedridden at the time, the choice was simple. If I wanted my clothes ironed, I was the only one who would do it.
These days with perma-press and with different standards, I iron maybe five minutes every six months.

Cleaning the house was a team effort, from an early age.

My mother considered me a spaz and refused to teach me how to use the sewing machine. Before I went overseas to work, my aunt gave me a simple sewing kit, which I learned how to use when I needed to.

In third grade, I started walking two miles to school when I got up before anyone else was awake and prepared myself a dish of cold cereal. Because my mother was bedridden for some years, my father did a lot of the cooking, so I never saw cooking as an exclusively feminine task. My father’s “throw something in the skillet and see what happens” approach to cooking is my approach. By 13 or 14 I could bake cookies from scratch.

I first mowed the lawn when I was 10- that time just a portion. The next year I assumed complete duties. As the lawn was big and hilly, it took five hours to mow.

At age 8 I assumed responsibility for feeding the dog.
At 18 I painted the house- a big old farmhouse. Scraping and preparation included.

My father was a pretty good amateur carpenter. I regret that he died before I learned many of his skills. My father waited for me to ask. But my father refused to learn anything from HIS father, also a good carpenter, until my father bought a house. Oh well. Learn the skills when you need them.

My parents had a good-sized garden, including a permanent rhubarb and asparagus patch, but never required us children to work in it. Maybe I occasionally helped lay down mulch, or helped pick some crops, but that was most likely a case of my volunteering to do it, as I have no unpleasant memories of doing so. They definitely did not require us to weed. They saw the garden as their thing.

Some friends of ours had a strawberry patch of note. It was not big enough for commercial exploitation, but rather as an example of getting a lot of yield out of a small patch of land. Rumor has it that a US Secretary of Agriculture once visited it. The owner of the strawberry patch required his children to weed the patch. I remember one of the children in her FIFTIES informing me of how much she hated weeding that patch. Her having a bad relationship with her father may have had a bearing on her opinion of weeding the patch, but that’s another matter.

2. My uncle grew up in Prussia before WWII on a big farm. He learned to sew because they were a self-sufficient operation and they made all their own clothes. He made my aunt’s wedding dress, including embroidering a huge rose on the hem. It’s gorgeous. He is no sissy. He is also a cowboy, was a stunt man in the movies and was the fire chief at the Broadmoor Fire Station in Colorado Springs. Sewing is just one of his many talents.

But apparently the world is past being self-sufficient now. I found this article about classes to teach kids how to fend for themselves at college disconcerting. Where were these kids’ parents when they were growing up?

=)

Suek, macrame is part of marlinspike seamanship (knots, splices, etc.) in that it was a way to practice the knots for repairing nets. It, however, originated in the making of rugs IIRC. The Coast Guard trained me in a bit of this, though long unused and thus long gone.

Bill Smith, a sailor to the bitter end I see.

Bookworm, you have a great blog. I lived in Mill Valley briefly, many years ago. I generally kept my mouth shut to get along.

My very Ladylike GRANDMOTHER taught me to sew, and I recall no feelings that it was a sissy thing to do — just useful. It’s good not to have to explain ripped clothes to Mom.

In the 60s, when I was a teen, and worked as an orderly in a hospital, **I** knew how to make hospital corners, and the sissy GIRLS had to be taught. I also knew how to make a tight bed you could bounce a quarter off of, because my Mom told me I’d have to be able to do that when I went into the army. (Everybody in her generation went into the service). What could be less sissy to a boy — then — than knowing army stuff? My mom — also a Lady like her mom — also gave me the .22 – .410 rifle/shotgun she’d had as a girl. My friends didn’t see that as too sissy either.

When I grew up and had my own sailboat, I was disgusted by the common practice of the “butane backsplice,” in which a plumber’s torch is used to melt the ends of a nylon or dacron lines to keep them from unlaying, or fraying. Lubberly and NOT to be countenanced! No stranger to a needle and thread, I got a sailors palm and needle, and learned to do a proper job. And, mending sails is just plain sewing. Thanks Gramma!

The Cub Scouts started them right – in order to get their Wolf badge(age 8 years), they had to be able to cook a breakfast, and that included washing up afterwards. It wasn’t a huge step to go from cooking breakfast to making grilled cheese sandwiches, making spaghetti (from a package, at that point) and other snack type stuff. I never had junk food in the house. The budget was too limited – junk food (chips etc) were strictly for company…which also ensured that they were social for at least a short period of time – otherwise no chips and dips. So 8 became the marker age – when you’re 8, you start to make stuff on the stove…and that was the rule for my daughter as well.

Charles…did you know that knitting(socks, at least) and crocheting were originally activities of sailors? Also macrame. It makes sense, if you think about it – all three are functions of knots, and sailors of old knew knots. At least, that’s what I’ve been told…

We three kids learned how to cook for ourselves early on. We did it because it was an adventure at first, later to take the burden off Mom – she had a job.

I may be a very lazy middle-aged man, but I know how to do for myself. And Mom and Dad made sure of that.

Thanks, Charles, for the reminder!