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Our family was not blessed with indoor plumbing until the
mid-1950's (I was 9 or 10 at the time.) Prior to this "luxury," we depended on "the outhouse," a well, with
hand-operated pump, and a basin (for "washing up.")

Saturday night was "bath night." a 12-gallon tub was put
in the kitchen, and half-filled with cold water. Kettles were
kept on the stove, to provide hot water, to blend with the
cold. An Army blanket was tacked over the archway be-
tween the living room and kitchen, for "privacy."

My 6 cousins came over every Sturday night, to share in
the rub-a-dub experience. My sisters bathed first, followed
by my 2 older female cousins, They then bathed their
todder siblings. I was always the last child to bathe.

While the other children bathed, I stayed in my room, reading or working crossword puzzles. My parents made
it clear that I was not to enter the kitchen until all girls
had bathed---------and dressed. It never entered my mind
to violate th integrity of the blanket, or to "sneak a peek"
at the girls.

Finally, it was my turn to take a bath. Like clock work,
girls began filtering into the kitchen (on one dubious
errand or another), as I was disrobing, or settling into the
tub. The Ivory Soap we used produced no bubbles, but
it did leave an opaque film on the surface of the water.
I took advantage of this property, in an effort to conceal
my "boyhood."

When I complained to my mother, about the girl invasion,
she replied, "You're just a little boy; don't worry about it."
Worry, I did. I could not understand why a boy's privacy
and dignity were of less value than those of a girl. Over
half a centuy later, I still have found no satisfactory answer.