Memory Lane #2- Working

I first became aware of the debate over mothers working outside the home when I was registered for Kindergarten.  Of course I didn't know it was a debate. I just became aware that something was going on in the grown up world that I could feel, but not really understand.

My Mother had worked outside the home my whole life. My Dad had taken a while to settle into an occupation after WWII and so my Mom had, at times, been the main provider for the family. By the time we moved to SLC, my Dad was teaching high school and working on his PhD at the University of Utah. Perhaps my Mom could have chosen not to work at that point, but looking back, I think it provided her a sense of security and I think she liked working. This wasn't the norm in 1960. Still, it was the norm for me and I didn't think anything about it until the day I had to register for Kindergarten.

Kindergarten registration took place in the middle of the day. For my Mom that meant the middle of the work day.  My best friend, Mary, lived across the street. We were the same age and so my parents arranged for Mary's Dad to take us both to the school to register.  I also discovered that it wasn't normal for a Dad to do this task.

I don't know why Mary's Dad didn't work or maybe he worked an odd shift, I don't know. What I did know was that he was really nice. He wasn't creepy nice. He was just a good Dad to his kids and any neighborhood kid that wandered in.   He may have been in the Navy at some point.  I thought this because he made wonderful Navy bean soup . It seemed like he always had a big pot of Navy bean soup made with large white beans and a big ham bone on the stove.  We could just have some when ever we wanted. It didn't have to be a meal.  He was a cheerful and kind man.  He often greeted me by saying, "there's my beautiful brown eyed girl."  Mary was from a family of eight girls and they all had blond hair and blue eyes.  I don't remember much about Mary's Mom. She didn't work, but she stayed to herself and was usually cross, so I avoided her.

The day of Kindergarten registration arrived and I was happy to go with Mary and her Dad over to the school.  He was the only Dad there.  Even at five years old, I was aware that people were looking at us and wondering.  It got confusing right from the start.  The registrar thought Mary's Dad was my Dad too.  She asked if my mother was dead. I told her my mother was at work. She said, something like, " I see, so your parents are divorced?" I told her no, that my Dad was at work and my Mom was at work.  I felt like she was looking at me with some sort of pity this poor child look. Mary's Dad sorted it all out and at the end of the day I was registered for Kindergarten.  Still, I was angry and confused. Just because my Mom worked didn't mean she was divorced.  I only knew one person who was divorced, my friend Debbie's Mom, and she worked.  I didn't know any other moms that worked. Did this mean my parents were getting divorced? I didn't like how things had gone and wasn't so sure after then that I would even like school.

Thinking about it now, I wonder why the administrators and teachers at the school found it odd that my mother worked outside the home. All of them, including the principal,  were women and surely they weren't all single or divorced or widowed.