For some, the end of summer can signal a loss of free time, but for most people, “back to school” routines also bring a structure that promotes a sense of stability that means “back to normal”.

Growing up in a large family, I found routine created order out of potential chaos. By Labor Day, I looked forward to going to school. My siblings and I wore uniforms as part of our attendance at parochial school. At summer’s end, I remember going through the box of last year’s uniforms and choosing a skirt, blouse, and bolero that suited my size and grade. Gimbels Department Store in Islip, Long Island, sold new school and scouting uniforms. Our hand-me-downs would be supplemented with a new blouse, skirt, and a few pairs of new blue knee socks. New Buster Browns were added to my simple wardrobe of sneakers for gym, chukka boots for play, and patent leather Mary Janes for church.

The structure of each day during the school year was a stabilizing force. Upon awakening, we washed and dressed, made our beds, and completed a chore collecting towels or sheets as we headed to the breakfast table by 7:45 a.m. A glass of juice, oatmeal, and cinnamon toast awaited us. If it was my turn to do the breakfast dishes, I did that. And on Saturdays, we could choose boxed cereal instead of oatmeal. Sundays, after Mass, were always reserved for eggs, bacon, and delicious New York crumb cake and pastries from Stanley’s Bakery.

School lunches were made and packed while we ate breakfast. Monday, we had peanut butter and homemade grape jelly; Tuesday, we had bologna; Wednesday, we had egg salad; Thursday, we had Velveeta cheese and mayonnaise; and Friday, we had my favorite, tuna fish. Never a variation. All on Stanley’s Bakery bread. The entire school year. Kindergarten through eighth grade.

I loved it.

While, for the most part, there was no customization, I realized that if I volunteered to make the lunches, I could add lettuce or extra cheese and mayonnaise to my sandwich. However, this did lead to the unfortunate adult habit of extra mayonnaise on everything. There is a comfort of knowing what’s for lunch. Even now, I yearn for a tuna fish sandwich on Fridays.

My school day passed all too fast. I was born in 1957, and my grade school class sizes were between 45 and 50 students. Looking back, I try to decipher how order was possible. Seated alphabetically, I sat near the same students for eight years. Except for gym, music, and recess, I stayed in the same classroom through sixth grade. The bus dropped us off about three blocks from our home, on the corner of Cleveland and Stellenwerf avenues. If I missed the bus, I missed school. With younger children at home, my mother could not leave to drive me to school.

Until high school, after school brought even more routines. Once home, my siblings and I changed into our play clothes and gathered to do homework around the kitchen table, where we were served a glass of milk and some cookies. My mother would frequently call out equations from the timestable, and we shouted out the answers in a frenzy to be correct. When we were done with our homework, my mother signed our papers, and we packed away our workbooks for the next school day. The rest of the afternoon was ours to play outside.

As fall approached, we played football and basketball, maybe even kickball. Our yard, worn to dirt from many active feet, was also a gathering spot for neighborhood kids who joined in. A new development was being built adjacent to the one behind our home. We would take our bikes and ride “the mountains” of piles of cleared topsoil which formed a fantastic trail that was tamped down by all of our bikes equipped with banana seats and tall handlebars. We got dirty and had so much fun. That’s what play clothes are for. By seventh grade, I was allowed to join CYO volleyball and later basketball, intramural leagues that met on Tuesdays and Thursday nights from 6:30 to 8 p.m. during fall and spring. On rainy days, our basement had a linoleum tiled floor that my father embedded with a hopscotch board. Along with the ping pong table, Nok Hockey, and dozens of board games, we were never idle in our play.

At 5:45 p.m., my mother, or designated older sibling, would call us for dinner. We washed up and were all seated for grace and dinner by 6 p.m. It was a rare occurrence that we were not all seated together for dinner. During dinner, my parents would lead us in a discussion in current events or current activities at school. Food was distributed, yet no one ate until all were served and grace was said. Even dinner dishes were organized into six jobs. Set the table, clear/sweep/junk out, load/unload the dishwasher, wash the extras, dry the extras, and a BYE (or night off). The extras, of course, were the pots and pans. Depending on what we had for dinner, the extras could be a delight or a nightmare. Next to having the night off, drying the extras was quite the coveted job, as one could walk away and do the task much later.

Of course, next came baths and PJs. Once all was done, we watched our favorite comedies on TV before reading and bedtime. Having had a full and active day, it didn’t take much for us all to get to sleep. In grammar school, a bedtime of 8 p.m. was strictly enforced. By sixth or seventh grade, our bedtime was advanced to 9 p.m. after All in the Family, The Jeffersons, or Happy Days.

With a start of cold cereal and toast, on Saturdays, we got to play all day, coming in only for lunch and dinner. On Saturday nights, my mother would organize us around the kitchen table to play Bingo or Pokeno or, later in high school, cards for chips and change. My mother loved Bingo and bought a set of cards and the clear red plastic disks. In seventh and eighth grade we delivered food to patrons of Church Bingo for nickel, dime, and quarter tips.

Week in and week out through the school year, only the weather seemed to change. Of course, we argued. Anger and fighting were often met with swift consequences. My siblings and I are among the most competitive people I know. Achievement was highly regarded. Sharing, caring, working together, and being of help were also valued and set as goals for our behavior. We all worked hard and tried our best. We laughed, we played.

While there were difficult times, for the most part, I have good memories and cherish the values and consistency these routines instilled in me.

Now, as an adult, passing through life on life’s terms, one day at a time, I rely on my own routines to give me stability and help me level challenging times. I can easily get wrapped up in being too busy as a convenient coping mechanism. It is only when I return to the comfort of my routines that I am most at home and settled.