Our mother had her hands full with four children, all two years apart. We were a noisy lot but left to our own devices, were able to entertain ourselves quite well. In order to do what I wanted, it was necessary to tell my parents just enough to make them think I was involving them in my life. If I said too much like my oldest sister, then there was a lot of restrictions. If I said nothing, like my next oldest sister, then it aroused suspicion.
The middle road of parental notification suited me because it afforded the most freedom
and did not altogether eliminate my parents as allies. My mother claims that I was a skeptical child and needed direct experience to learn. If I was told the stove was hot, I touched it once and verified what hot and burn and pain meant. I just couldn’t believe my Mom or anyone for that matter.
She did teach us many skills which had a lot to do with going to sea. From the age of four, I was given a blue denim bag the size of a pillow case to pack all my clothes, books, dolls, etc. for a trip on the boat. It was our job and if we forgot something, then we had to make do. Mom was a master of lists and organization. She had large canvas bags with sturdy handles in which to pack all the food. A good cruise planner runs a seamless operation and my mother was a champ. Good stowing skills utilized a thought process of what will be used or eaten first and last. Shapes must fit all together in tiny spaces and then be stable so that rough weather won’t dislodge them. The labels were taken off and the canned food was marked with magic marker. We all helped and by doing so, learned the business of planning, packing, stowing, and tying down. None of us paid a lot of attention to actually learning anything from Mom but we must have copied her expertise because all of us are capable of planning and organizing on a much larger scale.
Mom was usually cheerful and that is a good quality for life at sea. One could always be reminded that you could be in school or some other miserable fate and it would make life on the boat very sweet. She was a disciplinarian when it came to speaking the king’s English. Our grammar and manners were corrected no matter if we were steaming towards Gloucester or reciting a homework assignment. Sometimes on weekends she would choose to stay home and we would feel like Dad was the leader of the lost children from Peter Pan as he took us on adventures in the Phyllis. All we had to be was “charitable” as he called it. We were an eager crew when Mom stayed home because the rules were slackened. Our cooking and crewing were appreciated by my father’s great love for having his “onions” close by.
Mom got the short end of the stick because she was stuck with raising us alone when Dad traveled on business which was often and for long periods of time. It was similar to having a fisherman father, gone fishing for six months. Four energetic, independent, and opinionated kids couldn’t have been an easy group to manage, but she did and much credit is due for her perseverance and dedication. We all survived childhood in one piece. My mother credits it to the philosophy which she and Dad used.” Treat them like racehorses: give them a little slack on the reins but be ready to pull them back in.”
The middle road of parental notification suited me because it afforded the most freedom
and did not altogether eliminate my parents as allies. My mother claims that I was a skeptical child and needed direct experience to learn. If I was told the stove was hot, I touched it once and verified what hot and burn and pain meant. I just couldn’t believe my Mom or anyone for that matter.
She did teach us many skills which had a lot to do with going to sea. From the age of four, I was given a blue denim bag the size of a pillow case to pack all my clothes, books, dolls, etc. for a trip on the boat. It was our job and if we forgot something, then we had to make do. Mom was a master of lists and organization. She had large canvas bags with sturdy handles in which to pack all the food. A good cruise planner runs a seamless operation and my mother was a champ. Good stowing skills utilized a thought process of what will be used or eaten first and last. Shapes must fit all together in tiny spaces and then be stable so that rough weather won’t dislodge them. The labels were taken off and the canned food was marked with magic marker. We all helped and by doing so, learned the business of planning, packing, stowing, and tying down. None of us paid a lot of attention to actually learning anything from Mom but we must have copied her expertise because all of us are capable of planning and organizing on a much larger scale.
Mom was usually cheerful and that is a good quality for life at sea. One could always be reminded that you could be in school or some other miserable fate and it would make life on the boat very sweet. She was a disciplinarian when it came to speaking the king’s English. Our grammar and manners were corrected no matter if we were steaming towards Gloucester or reciting a homework assignment. Sometimes on weekends she would choose to stay home and we would feel like Dad was the leader of the lost children from Peter Pan as he took us on adventures in the Phyllis. All we had to be was “charitable” as he called it. We were an eager crew when Mom stayed home because the rules were slackened. Our cooking and crewing were appreciated by my father’s great love for having his “onions” close by.
Mom got the short end of the stick because she was stuck with raising us alone when Dad traveled on business which was often and for long periods of time. It was similar to having a fisherman father, gone fishing for six months. Four energetic, independent, and opinionated kids couldn’t have been an easy group to manage, but she did and much credit is due for her perseverance and dedication. We all survived childhood in one piece. My mother credits it to the philosophy which she and Dad used.” Treat them like racehorses: give them a little slack on the reins but be ready to pull them back in.”
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