Clean up. Clean up. Everybody do your part.

There is something to be said about going back to the basics.

As an example...

While camping for an extended period of time holds no appeal for me whatsoever, I can appreciate the beauty of a single night out in a tent: fresh air, the sounds of nature, stars glittering in the night sky. Much like the sport of golf, I can see the appeal, but I just don't want to do it for an extended period of time.

Which brings me to the joys of dishwashing.

Now, I'm sure there were better and more significant moments between my mother and I when I was a teenager, but I remember our best talks -- our best casual chats, if you will -- occurring as we were doing the dishes together. For my mom and me, it was an opportunity to do something together without the outside world (girls, school, work, relationships, 'what are you going to do with your life?') getting in the way.

Maybe it's because the task is so simple and so very achievable that it allows people to work and relax at the same time. The task of finishing a stack of hideously dirty dishes can look enormous and daunting; the sense of achievement some fifteen minutes later can be immense.

The realization I had yesterday was this: my boys, now age 7 and 10, have no idea how to do the dishes.

Somehow they've managed / we've allowed them to completely dodge the dishwashing bullet.

But, when your dishwasher catches fire, all of a sudden the basics become necessities. And all of a sudden the boys get to pitch in.

It wasn't as if they jumped for joy at the chance. There was some surprise and a bit of moaning as they were told to assist in the task. And I know Gee was none too impressed as I attempted to show him how to dry a plate without touching it with his hands. And Zed was surprised to hear that once the spoon hit the floor it had to be washed again and therefore he'd have to dry it again. But the dishes got done and for me there was some pleasure in the fact that the men of the house had cleaned up the kitchen together.

I'm not saying that the boys should help do the dishes all the time. And I certainly do not mean to imply that we won't replace our old automatic dishwasher -- delivery of the new shiny machine takes place on Thursday. (And it's strange to realize that when a person says "dishwasher" we now think of a machine. The term "automatic dishwasher" is almost archaic.)

There is, however, a kind of peaceful charm and quiet smile that comes to me as I think about the boys as they muddled and stumbled as they tried to dry the dishes last night. If I didn't think it would end up with my wife never speaking to me again, I am almost tempted to make one night a week the "Human Dishwasher Night". We would give the machine a break and clean up the old-fashioned way.

I could even ask my mother if she has any dishtowels she could pass down to her grandsons.