Washing dishes was one of the first chores I remember being told to do on a regular basis. I was in the kitchen a lot as a youth, so I was responsible for creating some of what needed to be cleaned.

But that didn’t matter. What was important was that the dishes get cleaned and placed in the rack.

Mind you, there was a dishwasher built into the cabinets and counters within the kitchen, but by the time I came of age it was no longer considered a viable option for cleaning dishes. Not when my hands were readily available to get dirty making sure things got clean.

Like any American youth blessed with First World Problems, I rebelled against this and would whine and complain when commanded to complete this simple task. I can remember nights when I was awaken in the night by my mother, who upon returning home from work noticed what was left in the sink. I was sent to make amends with soap, scrubber and washcloth.

I’ve tried to pass down an understanding of youthful angst and the ultimate answer to my children and any other youth willing to listen. If you don’t like the rules of the house, the rulers within said house and want to be in control, the best thing to do is go all out with your studies. That way, when you walk in the robe to collect your high school diploma, you’ve have plans that include you vacating your current domicile.

My mission wasn’t necessary to leave the house, but I did want to leave the city and state I was in. After graduation, I hopped a train north and after one adventurous summer after my freshman year, I have never really returned to New Jersey. I loved my time in the Garden State, but too many factors and memories of the past have kept me away…

My way in the kitchen was crafted by my time under my mother’s roof. Discounting summers spent in sub-lets, it would take a while before I was in a comfortable enough off-campus home before I took notice. While where things are placed within the kitchen can vary from place to place without my objections, keeping a clean kitchen sink is a priority.

Especially when living with four other people with varying degrees of clean…in a neighborhood that doesn’t look clean from the outside and rarely on the in, since the majority of residents are fresh from their parents’ home and relishing without true responsibilities.

It might be remembered differently by others, but I want to believe I attempted to keep the sink clean. I’m certain I’ve done so since, whether with any of the various people I lived with in the Great Northwest or the other haunts and spots I’ve stopped at as I’ve worked my way east.

Working for pay has provided for apartments and rental homes with dishwashers, the dream appliance for housewives created by Josephine Cochran in 1886. It means even if dishes are dirty, they can be hidden away from eyes inside a device that promises to clean and dry them. It’s a luxury that those of us with take for granted and those without can only imagine.

Ever since I’ve had the fortune, I’ve attempted to keep that in the same order. I don’t believe that just because a dish is in the dishwasher that it will get clean. It likely needs to be rinsed off, then placed in the proper location. I know it’s the DPOCD, a condition I just discovered and know I’m completely guilty of.

So I’ll admit to entering homes of family and taking a couple of minutes to adjust dishes as necessary. My children have learned to just wait and allow me to load after dinner and I’ve gone behind their feeble attempts to do the job without my supervision.

So to see what it looks like when I’m away is startling, especially since I’m not in a proper position to rectify the situation. Instead I must look from a few feet away, wondering how many of the plastic bowls will turn over and fill with water once the cycle is done and if those dishes will be placed in the rack or return to the same wrong location inside.