Managing a large family has numerous challenges. In the post-War 1950s, large families were quite prevalent. In my family, there were five children. My oldest sister was born before WWII and is 9 years my senior. My brother was just 2 years older than me, and my two younger sisters were close in age, born just about 18 months apart. We were a very competitive family, each child always looking out for their own interests. This created a lot of opportunities for squabbles and skirmishes. My mother found inventive solutions for how to keep us in line.
How We Divided Food Treats
Sweet treats were not a regular feature of our diet. They were carefully doled out. This created a fertile ground for the accusation -- his or her piece was bigger than mine or had more frosting (for cake), or whatever. The solution was simple. Mother would cut two pieces. She was not to be challenged on the size or selection; otherwise there might be no selection to be made at all. Then she would pair us off and hand one piece to each pair. It was a tough task if you were selected to make the next cut, for the game was rigged. Whoever cut the piece in half had to let their partner choose first. Then, by default the cutter got the remaining piece. The result was that we developed highly-tuned skills at very evenly dividing goodies. The rule of one cuts, the other chooses shut down the bickering and squabbles, but it was a high anxiety adventure. I still many years later see glimmers of it when a family member is tasked with cutting a cake or pie. Unless one asks for a small piece, the piece one receives is exactly the same as the others being cut.
A Cheesy Punishment
Mother also devised an exquisite punishment for the inevitable skirmishes of childhood. In the 1950s Parmesan cheese did not figure heavily in the cuisine of the day unless you were Italian. We were quite Italian. My father was the first generation of his family born in the US. My mother was the exact opposite. Her family arrived in the US well before the Revolutionary War. Even with this mixed heritage, we cooked and ate Italian. This meant that Parmesan cheese dispensed in small green cardboard canisters was totally unsuited to the family's needs. The same green shakers of Parmesan cheese can still be found on grocers shelves. I have no idea who buys or uses them. Even in the 50s we needed a more robust quantity of cheese for pasta, salads and other delicious menu options.
My father solved the supply chain problem. He would go to "little Italy" and bring home large chunks of cheese, usually Parmesan and Romano. The chunks were so large that we stored them in the back refrigerator in a vegetable bin. These huge chunks lasted so long that they became known as the "cheese fossils." They did not grate themselves; however, this was the exquisite punishment meted out to sibling combatants. Mother would declare that she had enough and was going to put an end to the bickering. For some reason this punishment usually was delivered when her Mason jar of grated cheese was running low -- she was a clever one. Mother would lay down a sheet of waxed paper, lay out the cheese grater (a metal drum grater just like you see in restaurants today), then send one of the combatants to go get the cheese fossils. Mother would hack off a chunk, load it in the grater and hand it to one of the squabbling combatants. The instructions were simple -- one person counted turns of the handle, while the other counted. Every 100 turns, places were switched -- the grinder became the counter. Since the cheese fossils were extremely hard and very well aged, the process was both slow and smelly. Mother would check how the cheese grating was progressing often shaking the jar to make sure that it was being properly filled. When the Mason jar was sufficiently full she would declare our punishment ending, but first we had to pick up any stray cheese fragments, make sure that the cheese fossils were back in their place in the refrigerator and that the waxed paper was properly thrown away.
As I look back over my shoulder, my mothers solutions appear elegant in their simplicity. These were just two lessons of many lessons in justice that she imparted.
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