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| Photo by Kevin Botterman |
I was thinking the other day about the various chores Dad assigned to me and my sibling to keep the family home in good order.
My duties included mowing the lawn, which I assumed as a responsibility during the third grade. During the winter months I helped clear snow from the sidewalks and driveway. I also was responsible for running a vacuum over the carpeting in the family living room and in the dining room. I actually enjoyed my outdoor chores and indoor assignments.
I shared dish-washing duties with my siblings. Dad supplemented our regular weekly chores with season-specific projects and tasks that all of us were expected to lend a hand with.
We also were expected to keep a tidy room and look after our personal belongings, but I failed at those tasks.
My parents purchased a two-story, wood-framed house at 32 S. Mitchell in Arlington Heights in 1966. The house served as my family’s headquarters for more than 30 years. Mom sold the house and relocated a few years after Dad passed away in 1995.
It was a good home, but an old structure with many dated characteristics, including windows frames that required us to hang heavy, glass storm windows during winter and replace them with screens during the warmer months.
I grew up in a family of eight children. I was number six overall and the fourth of six boys. All of us, my sisters included, were expected to lend a hand in preparing the house for winter, both inside and out. This included a variety of tasks ranging from trimming trees and raking leaves, to helping set up the Christmas tree and hanging holiday decorations.
Dad’s late autumn rituals included hanging the storms windows and setting up the outdoor decorations for the Christmas holiday. It seemed everyone in my family dreaded performing these tasks. I will save the Christmas decorations for another time in order to tell you now you about the storm windows.
The house sat atop a foundation of cylinder bricks and concrete flooring. The main floor had about 20 windows that needed attention at the change of seasons. The second floor had fewer windows and only six required seasonal work.
Putting storm windows up always seemed more challenging then taking them down, but both tasks required teamwork and patience. We had plenty of hands to help with the work, but frequently ran short of patience and civility.
No easy task
I don’t know how much each storm window weighed, but back then I figured it had to be at least 60 pounds. I’m sure it was much less, but whatever it was the task of lifting one above your head to pass it up to someone standing at the top of a six-foot ladder was made more challenging due to its width and rectangular shape.
There was no easy way to grasp hold of a frame and transfer it to the next person. You simply had to wrestle the thing and pray you didn’t shatter the glass.
The autumn operation was often made more challenging, because Dad would wait until he was confident cold weather had arrived for the season before he would begin the work. That meant his work crew would be assembled and deployed on a day when temperatures might reach only the low 50s or upper 40s, chilly afternoons in late October or mid-November.
The project typically took a few hours, sometimes longer depending on how many workers managed to slip away during the work. A couple of my older siblings were masters at disappearing during a bathroom break, reappearing only after the project was completed.
The work was physically challenging, but necessary. The work also offered lessons in organization, preparation, teamwork and even helped developed my vocabulary — I learned a lot of new words every time I spent hours working with my Dad and older brothers.
I always marveled at how my dad could swing a storm window into place while standing atop a ladder with a burning cigarette balanced on his lower lip, all along telling us about a range of subjects.
Looking back on those projects I can say I am glad I no longer have to do that type of work twice each year.
But I do miss spending time with my siblings and working under Dad’s supervision. I mentioned above that dad passed in 1995. Two of my brothers also are no longer with us. The siblings who remain are scattered about the Midwest, busy with families and careers.
It is at this time of year, when winter approaches and leaves require raking, that I pause and think about those afternoons more than 40 years ago, when my father would gather his young crew for a few hours of shared labor.
I can tell you that in the warm light of memory, the work is not as difficult as it once was and those window frames are not so heavy after all.
