The Bathroom War

I grew up in a house that had one bathroom for seven people. There were actually two bathrooms, but one went into retirement when I was about seven years old and from 1983-2003 it served solely as the laundry room. Informally, it was more like one big hamper. The shower rod was an extension of my parents’ insufficient closet and the tub was the landing strip for clean yet rogue items like socks who lost their partners and belts that were hastily ripped off a pair of pants en route to the washer. I think something went awry with the plumbing. Actually, I don’t really have a solid comprehension of why my family didn’t use this bathroom. This room, the Hamper Room, was conveniently located right off the kitchen. Inconveniently, it remained out of commission for guests who had to climb a flight of stairs to use the real bathroom.

The real bathroom upstairs was a busy room. Accoutrements adorned the wide windowsill as well as the sink and the bathtub. The Wella Balsam shampoo bottles were close to 64 oz (keep in mind this was long before Costco) and lasted about a week, the tubes of AIM toothpaste seemed alive as they oozed a neon blue gel that slithered down the white sink. The half-opened 12-packs of Cottonelle toilet paper were a permanent fixture. Rarely was a roll placed on the actual toilet paper holder, and if it was it lasted about two hours before it needed a replacement. So, without a family meeting, we seemed to agree by physical demonstration that the toilet paper holder was on sabbatical. Bars of Ivory Soap in the shower were rebellious, either slipping off the soap holder onto vulnerable toes or stubbornly sticking to the soap holder as prying fingers tried to wrestle them free. Ivory and I had some words back then (even if they were only in my imagination). To this day, I don’t buy Ivory Soap.

The Bathroom War happened sometime circa 1990.

Or maybe it was the Door War.

In either case, it happened.

We lost the bathroom door during an all-out fight. It was ready to go after years of being slammed and pushed and pulled. It had stood in the way as defender when victims fled sibling attackers from the hallway and pushed it shut with all their might. The door would teeter and inch to the left and then an inch to the right as one child’s face grimaced on the inside while the other child grunted and grimaced. Fights terminated at the door. It’s exhausting to push against someone with the same strength. Winners are not determined easily that way. [There is a warm-up we do in dance rehearsal. The first part is placing your hands palm-to-palm against someone else’s and bending your knees and pushing each other. When doing the exercise properly, you break a sweat without moving. There is perfect equilibrium. The second part of the exercise is placing your palms against the wall and doing the same thing. Literally, you try to push the wall backwards. It’s exhilarating. Truly. It’s also exhausting and reminds me of the Bathroom War every time I do the exercise.] The bathroom door had its last word during a battle between siblings. I think the match was uneven – 2 against 1 – and the door’s ancient hinges crumpled, with wood panels falling backwards over the little person behind it. It was a dramatic ending to a standard sister- sister- brother- sister- brother fight. And it was a dramatic beginning to the phase in our lives which is now known as the “No Bathroom Door” phase.

A cotton sheet replaced the bathroom door. It was tacked up above the door frame and when not in use, pulled over to one side and gracefully draped behind the towel rack conveniently located behind the door (or what was once the door). It was a clever idea, I thought. My dad was working 11pm-7am shifts in Mattapan and my mom was refereeing five children under the age of 13. The idea that we should get a new door just never floated into our family orbit. There is serious family debate over the length “No Bathroom Door” phase. I have polled six out of seven family members and I received the following answers:

1. “At least, at least, 3 years.”
2. “2 years”
3. “Oh my God, it was only a couple months.”
4. “Years. Obviously. Years. 6 years.”
5. “Well, I feel like it was 4 years. But, that’s just my memory and it was probably only 6 months.”
6. “Ten years. Don’t write about this in your blog.”

For those of you who know my family, you can have fun matching up the answers to the people. I will put an answer key at the bottom of this blog.

I mean, not often does a family of seven share one bathroom (granted my dad grew up sharing one bathroom with 12 people) but to also not have a door on that one bathroom is impressive. There was no need for knocking, you could just walk right up to the curtain and ask (or scream, or whatever other means you chose) “are you done yet?” A sheet does not block out smells. Or sounds. The bathroom was the opposite of private. It was public.

So, as I sat in my parents new house in New Hampshire (equipped with bathroom doors), on the toilet, in the downstairs bathroom this past Memorial Day Weekend, I was reminded of the Bathroom War. I was thinking that historically we have had a lot of communication in our bathrooms: fights (The Bathroom War), discussions (“How much longer are you going to be?”), demands (“Turn the water off!”), and requests (“can you hand me the ______?” as a hand reaches through the opening between the sheet and the doorframe and hovers above the sink waiting for the object to be placed in it). Going into a bathroom never exempted you from participating. And as I was reminiscing, I grabbed the little quotation book that my parents keep in the bathroom.

Each time I go to this bathroom, the bookmark (a square of toilet paper) has been moved and strategically placed between the pages of quotes that some family member thought was appropriate. It’s almost as if the wooden structure in the doorframe (now equipped with a lock!) really isolates us, so we’ve decided to try another means of communication. I cracked up when I read the quote that was bookmarked. I don’t remember what it was, but we are not that mysterious to each other and our choices of quotations are quite revealing. Quotes my mom chooses address “taking your mother for granted”, quotes Gretchen chooses resemble something like “you are what you eat”, quotes from Danny “reserve judgment”, Erin “art is expression of self”, Tommy “roll with the punches”, Kirsten “embrace the power of the mind”, and Freddy “appreciate the simple things.” That little square of toilet paper is being pushed and pulled, moved from one set of hands to the other, much like that infamous Bathroom Door that we collectively miss.

Answer Key:
1. Danny 2. Erin 3. Priscilla 4. Gretchen 5. Thomas 6. Freddy
Kirsten will be polled upon her return stateside.