"My Mom Pays Me to Clean My Room" And Why My Parents Didn't

"My mom pays us to clean our rooms. We have to clean out our dressers and everything."

I stared back at the girl who had just uttered such a crazy proposition. Be paid...for cleaning your own room? The idea!

I had to clean my room, too. My room that was crammed tightly with a bunk bed, a single bed, dressers, school books, and four girls. I had to clean out my dressers, too. I also had to do the dishes, scrub the counters, sink, and stove. But before that I had to clear a table that 8-10 people had just dined out, wipe it, and sweep the floor. I did all of this multiple times a day. I was the quickest and best and kitchen duty, so it generally fell to me. However, I still had to be capable of  vacuuming  the house, clean the bathrooms, dust, and doing laundry, changing diapers and children, etc. And those were just the daily chores, or "jobs" as we called them in our house. Saturdays brought bigger projects--such as yard work, painting the house, washing cars, deep cleaning the house, or the litany of work-based schemes my parents could dream up.

And I never received a penny for my labors.

I worked more than the average child--perhaps two hours on school days, half a day on Saturdays, but very little on Sundays--yet I also got to play and read a great deal more than the average child. Oh, the wonders homeschooling. And yes, I was one of those "smart" homeschooled kids, too.

Work was something that we did in our household. It was a staple of life. An axiom. My parents taught us from a very early age that living in a family meant participating in that family be working. We didn't associate work with money--we associated it with life. We were taught that work was something to be accepted, done cheerfully, and even enjoyed. I didn't enjoy every job I was given--obviously. I'm human. I hated dusting and vacuuming (why-I don't know) and so became the best and cleaning the kitchen, a job I enjoyed. I learned to dedicate myself, to find beauty in my labor and pride in a finished job.

Like any child, I had peers whose parents raised their children differently.  I discovered a phenomenon of "allowances", which my peers claimed they received for chores such as making their beds. In my mind, that meant free money. I consulted my parents and told them of my grand scheme to receive money for my labors. My burly, dark father spoke gently, as he always did when he was teaching us. He told me to look up at the roof over my head. To look at the food in the fridge , the clothes on my back, the car I traveled in, the books videos I learned from. He showed me all I was given free of charge, and to be thankful. At the time, I thought the lesson was merely one of family economics/

But my parents were teaching me a greater, deeper lesson. They were teaching me that work is part of the human existence, that paid work is something very precious. That to find payment for work is to find a gem indeed. I had to learn the value of work, itself, before I could expect to be compensated. I learned to work, and to appreciate work for its strength and value--not the money it would yield me.

When we children would complain about a task, my dad would assure us that we were building character. And as a child, I resented that. I didn't want character--I wanted to read Anne of Green Gables, sing songs in the orchard, and eat chocolate for lunch. But I did build character. I learned humility--how to serve without expecting compensation. Diligence, appreciating work for what it is. I learned to find pride in the excellence of my work, and even to enjoy it.

This is not to say we were without money. We received birthday and Christmas money from grandparents, and our parents taught us the importance of tithing and saving. We were, in fact, very scrupled in our money principals. Our parents constantly told us that dreams were attained by hard work and saving, so work and save we did.  This is not to say that we were not rewarded for our labors. Painting the house all summer long  (At 14, 13, and 11) meant  fun, scrumptious dinners that differed from our typical fare. Tying handles for bundles of wood for our father's business meant we had ammunition to bargain for the purchase of a another season of Little House on the Prairie.

Eventually, we grew to the point where we appreciated work and were capable of completing tasks that saved the family money, so we began helping our dad with something business tasks and received payment for our labors. We learned that business-type work was tiring, time-consuming, and much more difficult than our typical household job.
It was set up as a business proposition with the oldest brother as foreman and our wages were ranked by our abilities. It was a privilege to ride along and work, and ever so tiring. Still, we had years of experience in working and having fun, and we enjoyed our work. I actually remember the first pair of (much needed) jeans I bought  with my work wages. My body was tired from working in the rain and mud, and my skin itchy from spreading straw all day, but in my hand I clenched the money to buy a pair of simple jeans from Mervyns. That night as I did the dishes in my new jeans, I basked in the joy of truly owning something because I had earned the money.

I understood the differences between working because life requires work and working for money, and I appreciated it.  And I still appreciate it. There is a difference between the work I do at Starbucks and the work I do at home. One I do to earn money and one I do because I am human, alive, and do not want to starve or live in filth. One is natural and healthy and one is a form of income.

So to the girl who was paid to clean her bedroom, I truly hope her parents' good intentions worked well. I suspect they wanted to teach her the value of money and paid work, but I hope she also learned the value of work a necessary part of the human experience. I hope she learned, as I did, that most work is not paid. That work will always exist, that being paid to work is an utter privilege, not a right. As an adult, no one pays you to make your bed, or wash your own dishes. No one pays you to fulfill your responsibilities and your duty to whatever house you live in. As an adult, a paying job is worth fighting for--it is something precious and beautiful. I worked as a child, and as an adult, I'm thankful for it.

Note: this isn't to say that allowances are bad. I'm know many, many parents doled out allowances and their children grew up to be amazing, hard working people. As with any technique, it's the idea and teaching that follows it that's important. If a child knows that an allowance is a gift and a teaching tool, instead of something he/she deserves, then it is a wonderful thing. Unfortunately, many people in my generation expect to be paid for existing. They expect to find a wonderful job, and refuse to seek "lower" employment. They haven't learned the value of unpaid work, and the beauty that is paid work.