I’m a working class girl. My dad was a professor, but he was the first in his family to get a college education. I am the first woman. At home, he wore white t-shirts and gray pants. Every day. And just hung out with us. His father worked for the Monon railroad, as far as I know for his whole working life. My other grandfather worked as a car mechanic, a security guard, and during the depression for the W.P.A., building sidewalks on city streets. My grandmother took dresses from other relatives apart and reshaped them for my mother, during the depression. She was pretty good with that foot-operated sewing machine. She had 4 sisters. They were all sent to other people’s homes to work as domestic servants, when they turned 15. They all quit school at the age of 12. Besides my dad and myself no one else in my family has a Masters degree, that I know of, let alone a PhD.
For most of my life, I worked jobs that did not require a college degree. My very first job ever was being the hat check girl at a roller rink, age 15, on skates. From there I did the waitress gig at quite a few restaurants. Restaurant managers are some of the worst sexist jerks I ever met in my life. One constantly put the moves on me. Another beat his wife, and she would come in with bruises, expecting sympathy. Yet another’s wife was having an affair with the younger night manager. The manager came in one night, punched him out and fired him, then divorced his wife.
Then I became clerical staff at a university library. As my research skills grew and I began to out-do the professional librarians and be requested by professors for assistance w/ their research, I decided I could do this for myself and ret’d to school. Besides, there was nowhere for me to advance to within the library system, and I didn’t want to get an MLS (Masters of Library Science).
During my 16 yrs. as library clerical staff, we never got the summer off. I’m used to 2 weeks paid vacation, and that was a privilege. We never had money for any planned getaway vacation, so I usually took a day or 2 off, here & there, all throughout the year.
To now be working a job where I get 3 months — the summer — OFF, is frankly, to be living a life of privilege. It *is* something that was within my own family of origin, as my own father took us on a 3-4 week annual family vacation. We camped in tents, but we traveled, almost always west. I’ve had my August birthday in the Grand Canyon, Yosemite National Park, and in Mexico. I’ve seen a bullfight, and I’ve driven into the California Redwoods, where trees made us feel as big as an ant.
But for my working lifetime, I’ve never had my own summers off. The school year is so stressful & hectic, it’s almost a necessity. I have time to breathe, to stress down, to contemplate, to organize. I have summer projects, including a journal article and family history research. But my time is my own, and I am setting no alarm clock. I get paid very little for the amount of education I have and the incredible amount of work I do during the semester. So I see this as a wonderful little “perk” almost necessary to this job. However, I also know just how much this sets me apart from most of the global world. It is an incredibly privileged life.
Doctor Grandma 