To the Band of Brothers: May 3, 2021

Good morning!

 

When I was a kid, my father had an ingenious system for maintaining cleanliness and order in a house that had six boys and three girls running around in it. The phrase often heard bellowing out of the mouths of both my father and mother was: “Acuérdate que en esta casa no hay criada.” In my opinion, the phrase carries a more powerful punch in Spanish (actually in Cuban) than it does in English, but is roughly translated to: “Remember that in this house there is no maid.”

 

Off to one side of the kitchen, in a room that was referred to in my house as “el utility,” hung on the back of the door a large paper calendar. This room was always locked and only my parents had the key. The calendar served as a sort of scorecard. Each square representing the day of the week had enough room to write in the names of all the kids. It was in this space my father marked off a series of points.

 

Every time you left lying around a shoe or a sock or a toy, you would get a point. Every time you ran out of the house and didn’t make your bed, you would get a point. Every time you were disrespectful, broke curfew, or rolled your eyes… point, point, point. Then, at the end of the week, the points would be tallied and whoever had the most had to wash the dishes after dinner the following week. That was pretty smart.

 

After a couple of months, my brother Manny started wondering why he, more often than most, got stuck with doing the dishes. He wondered why he always ended up with so many points. Little did he know that I had discovered how to unlock the door with an old steak knife. When my numbers got dangerously high, I would sneak in and just add a few lines to his name. Years went by and Manny became a professional dishwasher.

 

Now, I know you are probably thinking what a jerk I was. Well, for the record, I did eventually see the error of my ways and confessed the whole thing to both my parents and brother… last week.

While I may not have washed too many dishes in my house, I was raised in a household where many other responsibilities were allotted. I cut the grass, washed the cars (my parents, not my own), vacuumed the rugs, swept the floor, and bathed the dog. I received no allowance for my chores because my parents always reminded me that the food I ate, the clothes I wore, and the bed I slept in had been paid for by them. I remember one time I complained about no allowance. My argument was that I had several friends that got some cash for chores. My dad’s response was simple: “Good, go live with them.” Of course, I never did.

 

I laugh now, but you know the one thing I learned most about all that? I learned to take ownership of my house, my family, and my responsibility to them. I learned that I was entitled to nothing and that I had to work for everything. I learned that even though I didn’t drive the car I washed or dirtied the floor I swept or even liked the dog I bathed, I had to pull my weight for the sake of my home, for the sake of my family.

 

Too often I walk the hallways and central patio of Belen or the classrooms and dining hall and see bits of trash on the floor. No one picks it up. To be honest, I shouldn’t see one of you guys walk over an empty Gatorade bottle or a discarded napkin without picking it up and throwing it away. I never want to hear a student who is asked to pick something up say, “But it’s not mine.” Actually, it is yours, it’s all yours, Belen is yours. Take ownership of this school, it belongs to you. Remember, even though you did not drop the bottle or napkin, we have to pull our weight for the sake of our school, for the sake of our Belen family.

 

Auspice Maria