Writing Prompt #5: We Clean Up After Ourselves
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How could I possibly learn to clean up? There was no dust, dirt, or mess. All the things were in their places, yet all I saw were scowling faces. I was the only kid in charge of two adult parents who were following a manual written in invisible ink. What was I to think? My job was to fix the unseen messes – the fact that dad had an ulcer was my fault because I upset mom which made her drink too much. The fact that mom drank too much was my fault because I upset dad which upset his ulcer which upset mom and made her drink. Unfortunately for the planet, the grown-ups I was managing helped design and implement the military industrial complex in the United States. By second grade, I had learned multiple derogatory terms for people who weren’t white, and needed to be killed. By third grade I knew ICBM stood for intercontinental ballistic missile. By 12, thanks to my Grandpa Wes, I knew I was destined to be a different kind of clean up woman. Now at 76, I’m reviewing my merit badge journey and reading a new instruction manual – also written in invisible ink – but this one comes with crystals and a decoding ring. Cleaning up after myself isn’t just about dirt, but perhaps moving the dirt around a bit will lead to new and better acronyms – like ICBM might mean I CAN BE MAGIC.
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Today I cleaned up my desk at work (I joke that you can tell how far we are into the academic year by how high the piles of paper are on my desk — so summer means cleaning time!).
The greatest joy of this job is that I get to use a can of pressurized air to dust the electronics (and, if I’m being honest, to dust literally everything else too).
I hope all of you have the opportunity to dust with a can of pressurized air at some point in your lives. It is a simple pleasure that I relish every time I clean my desk.
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