The Little Matter of Big Responsibilities

"You want the privileges of this house," scolds Morton's mother. "All right. But for goodness' sake, take some of the responsibilities. Just look at that lawn. It's like a hayfield! And today the garbage man came on his rounds. But no, the can wasn't out on the curb. If mowing the lawn and carrying out the garbage isn't little enough to ask, I'll ask you . . ."

Morton yanked at his hair and gnashed his teeth in a kind of desperation. "Gee, Mother. That's just it. You never ask me. You tell me. You sit 'way up there on a heavenly cloud or something and hand down orders about what little Mortie has to do. Only I'm not little Mortie any more. I've got a mind of my own and Id like to use it."

"Then why don't you remember the lawn and the garbage?"

"Because," said Morton, suddenly calm, "I don't remember because I want to forget."

The same truth holds for many teen-agers. When they are summarily commanded to do things, they are apt to revolt. And the simplest way of rebelling is to forget.

"That sweet smirk that Esther puts on"--Esther's mother grimaces--"and her everlasting apologies! 'I'm so sorry, Mother darling! It completely slipped my mind!!' . . . I could tar and feather her; I could."

Says Fred, "My folks say I should take responsibility. But if you ask me I'm a slave-labor expert. A yes man. A pair of hands, no less, for the dame who takes all the responsibility into her own hands and bosses the show."

Fred feels like a nobody in his home.

In contrast, in their home the twins, Dan and Diane, each feels like somebody. They take a part and a very active one. They are not conscripted into it. Their chores are not assigned arbitrarily. They are given a voice and a choice.

However, it had not always been so.

The big change came after the talk which had started between Father and Mother and which then had spread to include the twins.

"We've gone about this thing all wrong, Del," then father had announced to their mother one evening. "No wonder those kids keep crawling out from under. We've given them the feeling that all we wanted them to do was what we ourselves didn't want to do."

"Well, it's true, isn't it?"

"True, but not good. I read a book that started me thinking and I believe I've come up with something: This is your home and my home. And each of us can get the best out of having a home only as we put ourselves into making a home."

"You're a wonderful man, dear," Del smiled. "My father never talked that way to my mother. He said, 'It's your job, Ma.' And he sat on the side lines, not as cheerleader but as chief Mr. Big Complainer. And my mother, of course, acted the martyr and drafted us to lessen her horrible burden instead of to help in the fun of making and keeping a home."

"Nice philosophy you've got there, Del. But if I remember correctly, it's not all a bed of roses. How about that mess of a stopped-up sink I fixed last week and the mess of clothes you had to wash as result? And how about those times when you're tired and complain so bitterly?"

"Why," with a twinkle, "that's part of the fun. I have as much right to complain as my mother had, haven't I? A fine ambition! . . . Well, anyhow, let's go."