Cheaper by the Dozen

I recently watched the movie “Cheaper by the Dozen” (The new one with Steve Martin.) I like the movie. I could relate as I was raised in a large family. There were not 12 children but almost; just 10. The most common question I hear when others learn of my family size is “How did you keep track of everyone.” There are two answers.

1. We didn’t. We lost three-year old sister at the LA County Fair for an hour. One of my brothers ran away from home and no one noticed. He returned, but I’m not sure how long he was gone because I didn’t notice when he left.

2. It isn’t like the movies. I don’t think there was a single time that all ten kids (and a pet frog) ravenously descended on the breakfast table, eggs and peanut butter flying, chaos reigning. In my family, by the time the last was born the oldest three had moved out. Also we had a pattern: three boys followed two girls. Twice. This gender grouping seemed to facilitate everyone fitting into a cluster. Parents could do a quick scan and see that the older boys cluster was present, and the pre-teen girl cluster was intact, etc.

Of necessity, we drove several cars to church. One Sunday when I was about 14 I was disappointed to learn that all three of my rides had left without me. From a phone in the church, I called home, and my dad answered. I said, “This is David; older boy cluster, I’m still at the church. Everyone left without me. Can someone come pick me up?”

He told me to hold on, and then I could hear him asking someone, “Do we have a David?” Pause. “Is he worth getting?” OK not really. And I didn’t really say the part about “older boy cluster.” That’s how those movies are started. My parents knew me by name, and in fact, knew me by voice.

Now that I live in a household with only six people, I recognize a few things about my upbringing that were probably unique. One thing is donuts. We didn’t enjoy this treat too often, but when we did I remember scarcity. And Algebra. If we had a dozen donuts, you could not just snarf out until you were full. First we had to divide 12 by the number of donut-eaters which usually excluded parents, but included all kids between the ages of “has teeth” to “not yet moved out.” Say it was 7. A dozen split seven ways is 1.71. Have you ever had to divide a donut 71-29? It is like 256°. Get out your protractor.

“Mom, David cut the donut at 248°; he’s eating my 8°!”

I’m exaggerating again, but the fact was that as a teenaged boy I never once felt sated on donuts. There were never any leftover donuts. I secretly vowed that one day when I could drive and had spending money, I would make a clandestine donut run and eat the entire dozen in the parking lot. I have been driving since 1981 and I still haven’t done this. It is a sad irony that over the years donuts have lost some of their charm for me.

However, one thing remains constant: It was wonderful to be raised in a large family; I wouldn’t trade it for all the donuts in the world.