Friday Evenings

Every Friday evening, with few exceptions, Mom and Dad would go out and enjoy some quiet time together -- a visit to a local Catholic church, and then dinner and conversation. They had done this for so long that it became a habit for us kids as well and we knew that, no matter what happened, Mom and Dad were going out Friday night. For those few hours we had the run of the house . . . or at least as much as the older kids would allow.

The hour before their departure usually felt a little hectic. Mom, blond and slender and already dressed for the evening, would be preparing dinner for the hungry tribe wandering around the house: grilled cheese or hamburgers and the inevitable potatoes and greens. Then she would go to the basement laundrey room to bring up Dad's dress pants and shirt. Mom, it seemed, dressed everbody.

"Nobody take a shower until Dad gets back!" she would call, her voice echoing up the basement stairs into the old dining room. Woe to us if the hot water ran out. "Mary, remember to take the potatoes out of the stove when they're ready, please!"

"Yes, Mom!" Mary, the oldest girl, shouted back from somewhere on the first floor.

Then with a rumble of gravel under truck wheels Dad would come in the driveway. He hurried in the back door and almost tripped over Barbara and Sarah playing hobbos among the coats and shoes piled around the back door entrance. "Hey guys, don't fool around, Mommy and I are going out soon. HONEY! I'M HOME!"

"I've got your clothes laid out on the bed!" Mom called, this time from their upstairs bedroom.

Dad, loosening his work tie, walked through the old kitchen and old dining room and down the basement stairs to take his shower. Our house had been doubled in size by the addition of the new kitchen, dining room, and family room on the southern side, but unfortunately there was still only one shower. Of course, as always, we managed. Usually.

Coming back to the first floor Mom paused from her breakneck pace to watch Rob play a computer game at one corner of the old dining room, under the suspended china cabinet. Her face lit up with her sunny smile. "Ohhh, wow, a new game, huh?" she said in that sudden teasing manner peculiar to her. "What's this one?"

"Castles: Seige and Conquest," Rob murmured, engrossed in designing one of the medieval fortresses which would protect his virtual property from invaders. It was probably a comforting excercise since his actual property never was very secure with his younger siblings around. Mom watched for a few moments, then glanced at the dining room clock.

'Ahhhh!" she cried, drammatically, still smiling and rushing into the nearby bathroom (which had a bathtub that leaked and therefore one more reason why the only shower was confined to the basement bathroom). Meanwhile Dad had finished his wash and thumped up the stairs to the old dining room, which really stood in the center of all the activity and served as a kind of center stage. Rob still clicked away at the computer.

"Where's Michael?' Dad asked, alluding to the oldest. Michael's room lay behind a plywood wall between the basement stairs and computer on which Rob was playing; the room had been a small sitting area now enclosed for the privacy of the high school junior.

Rob shrugged. "Bill knows," he replied. Bill was Rob's foil in just about everything, since they were one after the other in age and had markedly different personalities -- Rob extravagantly hilarious and Bill wryly ironical. Whenever they would begin a comedy routine everyone would end up hurting their sides with laughter. At the moment however Dad looked worried.

"DEBBIE!" he yelled.

"HERE!" Mom called from behind the door immediately to Dad's right. Dad jumped.

"Oh, there you are. I'm almost ready. Ten minutes?"

"Okay honey! I'm just cleaning up the sink -- somebody squirted toothpaste down the drain and it's clogged." Joseph, who had just entered stage right, turned and made an abrupt exit. "I think Joseph must have done it. Rob, make sure you keep an eye on everybody!"

Dad thumped upstairs to get dressed. Mom came out of the bathroom wiping toothpaste from her fingers with some toilet paper and looking as if her energy was starting to wear out. She caught Barbara and Sarah by the arm as they prowled past in the proper hobbo style. "Where's Evelyn? Tell her that it's her turn to read to the twins. Mary is taking care of Sam. What are you two wearing?" She lifted the hood of Barbara's rain jacket.

"We're hobos, Mom. Sarah is the daddy hobo and I'm the mommy hobo and we're looking for the cat to be the baby hobo. Joey doesn't want to be the baby hobo." Strange because Joe usually joined in the games with gusto. Mom shrugged her thin shoulders.

"If the cat scratches you, don't say I didn't warn you. And put those jackets back on the hook when you're done." The hobos nodded and prowled off in search of their progeny.

And after a few more minutes of commotion, warnings, and running up and down the stairs, Mom and Dad would leave for the evening. Their night of peace and quiet had begun. Our night, on the other hand, probably would be anything but. There was no way of knowing.