Memories

I found out something yesterday talking to my old school friend. I found out that something was not my imagination. I used to go and stay with her sometimes on a week-end or over the summer for a week. She was an only child and I was the youngest of eight. When I would stay, we used to get up early and work on the farm. They worked so hard. Baling hay, picking corn, picking berries, shovelling gravel in the long, hilly driveway. Always something to do on a farm.

My delicate stomach didn't like working like a farmer first thing in the morning with nothing in it. I became sick more times than not. What did I find out yesterday? My friend told me her Mom used to make her call friends to stay over when they had work to do for the free, extra help. She said she hated doing that. All these years, I thought I was just being lazy. Sheesh! I told you I was a sucker. I wish she hadn't told me.

I don't intend to sound languid. A little hard work never hurt anyone. But, bale hay? Shovel gravel? I wasn't used to the manual labor and did become sick to my stomach. I never could stand the hot sun. Headaches, and all.

I like for my daughter and her friends to have fun when they come over to visit. About the last thing on my mind is making them work. How selfish. Don't get me wrong. I make them carry their dishes to the sink from the table, and clean up after themselves. I certainly don't make them mow the grass and rake. Unless they want to help out to earn a ride somewhere or cover charge into a dance. That is different.

I used to think that some people had to know they were rude and selfish. I have come to realize that some of them do not have a clue that they are rude and selfish. They really are living in their own little worlds. How did one counsellor phrase it? "They don't read their environment very well." Yeah, I'd say.

Coming from the speakers: Sail On by The Commodores.