The dishes

Writing about the Cuban Missile Crisis I found my sister had her own memories about the occasion.  My brother chose not to share any reflection.  We have each worked from our own experiences (of course).  And come to different conclusions (of course).  I suspect all siblings do.  But the set piece of there being three of us, and no automatic dishwasher: one of us washed, one dried, and one put away the dishes  (the roles were interchangeable as we got older).   That was a certainty.  

It*s not surprising

But it is.

It still is.

My sister and brother and I

Remember different things

About growing up.

Our paths diverged early on

And soon enough

We grew up in completely different houses

At the same address.

Our parents were different

Yet pictures

Would tell the same story.

We went to completely different schools

In the same neighborhood.

We came home for supper after kick-the-can

Took up our different places

Washed, dried, put away

The dishes,

Three children,

Teenagers,

Young adults at holidays

Washed, dried

Put away the dishes

In completely different houses

At the same address.

We breathed different air

Saw different things.

Washed

Dried

Put away the dishes

Exactly the same:

One at the sink

One with a dish towel

One between the counter and the cupboard

After every meal shared

For years.