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Fridays were washday in my house. It normally took eight
five-gallon buckets of water just to fill the washing machine with
enough water for one load of clothes. With eleven children to wash
for, this process took several hours. We owned an old wringer
washing machine that would squeeze water out of the clothes when
placed between the two rolling pins, which were located at the top
of the washing machine. The washing machine was very dangerous to
operate and, therefore, no one was allowed near it except for my
mother. One day, while Mom was in the process of doing her weekly
washing, my younger brothers, Roosevelt and Jeffery, were fighting
in the backyard. Mom heard the noise and went to break up the
fight. While she was gone, I decided to help her out with the
clothes. I had been warned by Mom to never go near the washing
machine. But being the hardheaded child that I was, do you think I
listened? I think not. I took out a blouse that was washing in the
water and placed it in-between the two rolling pins. Lo and behold,
my arm got caught in the wringers. You would think that I would
have had enough common sense to let go of the blouse, but no, not
me. All I could think of was that my arm was gonna fall off. I was
too scared to yell for help because I knew I would be in big
trouble once Mom caught me meddling with the washing machine.
Luckily, Mom came back into the house just in time to unplug the
electric plug from the outlet before by arm was completely under
the wringer. Of course after I was freed I started to cry. I had to
think of something quick in order to save my behind, so I told Mom
I was trying to help her out with the laundry so that she didn't
have to work so hard. Itworked. She felt sorry for me and I was
spared a whipping that day. When it was time to take our baths we
had to fill the aluminum five-foot tub my dad had purchased from
the hardware store with ten five-gallon buckets of water. We then
had to get the help of another person to lift the tub onto the top
of the wood stove so that that water could be heated. We normally
took our baths right there in the kitchen. There was no door
separating the kitchen from the living room, so when we bathed we
had to hang a bed sheet in front of the opening. All eleven of the
children had to share the same bath water. The oldest child was
usually the first one allowed to bathe and then the rest followed
by age.
Fridays were washday in my house. It normally took eight
five-gallon buckets of water just to fill the washing machine with
enough water for one load of clothes. With eleven children to wash
for, this process took several hours. We owned an old wringer
washing machine that would squeeze water out of the clothes when
placed between the two rolling pins, which were located at the top
of the washing machine. The washing machine was very dangerous to
operate and, therefore, no one was allowed near it except for my
mother. One day, while Mom was in the process of doing her weekly
washing, my younger brothers, Roosevelt and Jeffery, were fighting
in the backyard. Mom heard the noise and went to break up the
fight. While she was gone, I decided to help her out with the
clothes. I had been warned by Mom to never go near the washing
machine. But being the hardheaded child that I was, do you think I
listened? I think not. I took out a blouse that was washing in the
water and placed it in-between the two rolling pins. Lo and behold,
my arm got caught in the wringers. You would think that I would
have had enough common sense to let go of the blouse, but no, not
me. All I could think of was that my arm was gonna fall off. I was
too scared to yell for help because I knew I would be in big
trouble once Mom caught me meddling with the washing machine.
Luckily, Mom came back into the house just in time to unplug the
electric plug from the outlet before by arm was completely under
the wringer. Of course after I was freed I started to cry. I had to
think of something quick in order to save my behind, so I told Mom
I was trying to help her out with the laundry so that she didn't
have to work so hard. It worked. She felt sorry for me and I was
spared a whipping that day. When it was time to take our baths we
had to fill the aluminum five-foot tub my dad had purchased from
the hardware store with ten five-gallon buckets of water. We then
had to get the help of another person to lift the tub onto the top
of the wood stove so that that water could be heated. We normally
took our baths right there in the kitchen. There was no door
separating the kitchen from the living room, so when we bathed we
had to hang a bed sheet in front of the opening. All eleven of the
children had to share the same bath water. The oldest child was
usually the first one allowed to bathe and then the rest followed
by age.
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