Remember when Saturday morning meant more than just cartoons and sugary cereal? Back in the ’70s, weekends were a carefully orchestrated dance of family chores, and us kids were the unwitting performers in this domestic ballet. There was no negotiating, no allowance charts, and certainly no concept of “child labor laws” when it came to helping around the house—we just did what needed doing because that’s how families worked back then.
1. Holding the Flashlight During Dad’s Under-the-Hood Adventures
Every weekend, without fail, your dad would pop the hood of the family station wagon or sedan, and suddenly you became his official assistant surgeon. You’d stand there for what felt like hours, directing that heavy metal flashlight at whatever mysterious car part he was poking at with a wrench. The beam never seemed to hit the right spot, and you’d get a gentle (or not-so-gentle) reminder to “hold it steady” or “point it over here, not there.”
Those Saturday afternoon car sessions were like a rite of passage, even though you had no idea what a carburetor was or why it needed so much attention. Dad would mutter things under his breath about “foreign cars” and “they don’t make ’em like they used to,” while you tried not to drop that flashlight on his head. Looking back, you realize he probably could have used a work light, but there was something about having his kid right there beside him, learning the mysterious ways of internal combustion engines.
2. Being the Human TV Remote Control
Before cable boxes with remotes became standard, changing channels meant getting up and walking to the television set—or sending your kid to do it. You’d be sprawled on the shag carpet, perfectly content watching “The Partridge Family” or “The Brady Bunch,” when suddenly you’d hear those dreaded words: “Hey, turn it to Channel 7.” There was no arguing, no “but I was here first”—you were simply the designated channel changer.
The real challenge came when Dad wanted to “see what else was on,” which meant you’d stand by that chunky dial, turning it click by click through all twelve channels. Sometimes you’d get lucky and he’d settle on something after just a few clicks, but other times you’d go through the entire lineup twice before he’d grunt his approval. It was like being a human channel surfer, except you were doing all the surfing while someone else enjoyed the ride.
3. Raking Leaves Into Perfect Piles (That You Secretly Wanted to Jump In)
Autumn weekends meant one thing: leaf duty. Armed with a rake that was probably too big for your small hands, you’d spend hours creating neat, tidy piles of red, orange, and yellow leaves across the front yard. The goal was always the same—make the yard look pristine and suburban-perfect, just like the neighbors’ yards.
The real torture was creating these beautiful, Instagram-worthy leaf piles and then being told not to disturb them because they were going to be bagged up later. Every fiber of your being wanted to take a running leap into those crunchy, colorful mountains, but you knew better than to mess up all that hard work. Instead, you’d admire your handiwork from a distance, maybe sneaking in a quick kick through a smaller pile when nobody was looking.
4. Washing Dishes While Standing on a Step Stool
Sunday dinner meant the good china came out, along with every pot, pan, and serving dish in the kitchen. Since dishwashers were still a luxury item in many homes, you’d find yourself perched on a wooden step stool, sudsy water up to your elbows, working your way through a mountain of dishes. Your mom would wash, you’d rinse, and hopefully an older sibling would dry—it was like a well-oiled assembly line.
The trick was not dropping anything, especially Mom’s good serving platter or Dad’s favorite coffee mug. Your small hands would struggle with the big dinner plates, and you’d hold your breath every time you transferred something from the wash water to the rinse water. Getting splashed was inevitable, and by the end of the ordeal, you’d be as wet as the dishes, but at least you’d earned your keep for another week.
5. Folding Fitted Sheets (And Failing Spectacularly Every Time)
Laundry day was a family affair, and everyone had their role to play in the great weekend washing marathon. You’d be assigned to the “easy” task of folding, which seemed simple enough until you encountered your first fitted sheet. Those stretchy, elasticized corners seemed to have a mind of their own, turning every folding attempt into a wrestling match between you and a piece of fabric.
No matter how many times your mom demonstrated the proper technique, you’d end up with something that looked more like a fabric burrito than a neatly folded sheet. The flat sheets were your salvation—nice, rectangular, and cooperative—but those fitted sheets remained your nemesis. You’d eventually give up and just roll the thing into a ball, hoping nobody would notice when it got shoved into the linen closet.
6. Polishing Furniture Until Your Arm Ached
Saturday mornings often began with the ritual of furniture care, and you were the designated Pledge sprayer and wood polisher. Armed with a yellow aerosol can and a soft cloth, you’d work your way through the living room, dining room, and bedrooms, making everything shine like a showroom. The smell of lemon-scented furniture polish became synonymous with weekend mornings and the promise of a clean house.
The coffee table was always the biggest challenge—large, flat, and somehow always covered in mysterious rings from glasses and cups. You’d spray and wipe, spray and wipe, until your reflection appeared in the wood grain and your arm felt like it might fall off. Mom would come by for inspection, running her finger along the edges to check for dust, and you’d hold your breath waiting for the verdict.
7. Shoveling Snow Before You Could See Over the Shovel Handle
Winter weekends meant snow removal duty, even if you were barely tall enough to push the shovel effectively. You’d bundle up in layers of clothing until you could barely move, then head outside to tackle the driveway and front walkway. The snow shovel was usually adult-sized, making the whole operation feel like you were wrestling with a piece of construction equipment.
The key was to start early, before the snow got too deep or too heavy, but somehow you always ended up out there when the stuff was practically cement. You’d push and scrape, push and scrape, creating narrow pathways that zigzagged across the driveway like a drunken snake. By the time you finished, you’d be exhausted, soaked, and probably ready for hot chocolate, but at least the car could make it to the street.
8. Cleaning Baseboards With a Damp Rag
Spring cleaning meant getting down to the nitty-gritty details, and somehow you always got assigned to baseboard duty. Armed with a bucket of soapy water and a rag, you’d crawl around the house on your hands and knees, wiping down every inch of trim and molding. It was like being a human floor buffer, except you were working on the vertical surfaces where dust and dirt liked to hide.
The worst part was trying to clean behind furniture and in tight corners where your adult-sized family members couldn’t reach. You’d contort yourself into impossible positions, squeezing between the couch and the wall, trying to reach that one spot that hadn’t been cleaned since the Carter administration. Your knees would be sore, your back would ache, but those baseboards would sparkle like new.
9. Sorting Through Dad’s Toolbox to Find “That One Screwdriver”
Weekend projects inevitably involved a frantic search through Dad’s toolbox for some specific tool that seemed to have vanished into thin air. You’d be enlisted as the official tool detective, digging through layers of screws, nails, washers, and mysterious metal objects to find “that Phillips head screwdriver with the red handle.” The toolbox was like a treasure chest of mechanical mysteries, each compartment hiding different sized versions of things you couldn’t identify.
The real challenge was distinguishing between a flat-head screwdriver and a Phillips head when you barely knew what either one was supposed to do. You’d hold up various candidates for Dad’s approval, getting a shake of the head and a “no, the other one” until you finally struck gold. Sometimes you’d get lucky and find the right tool quickly, but more often than not, you’d empty half the toolbox before locating the elusive screwdriver hiding in plain sight.
10. Weeding the Garden While Trying Not to Pull Up the Good Stuff
Summer weekends meant garden maintenance, and you were the designated weed-pulling specialist. Armed with a small hand trowel and your mom’s detailed instructions about what was a flower and what was a weed, you’d work your way through the flower beds with the concentration of a surgeon. The problem was that young weeds and young flowers often looked suspiciously similar to your untrained eye.
You’d hesitate over every green sprout, trying to remember whether Mom said the marigolds had round leaves or pointy ones. The dandelions were easy—everybody knew those were weeds—but the sneaky little grass shoots that sprouted between the petunias required serious consideration. More than once, you’d accidentally pull up something that was supposed to stay, leading to a gentle lecture about the difference between weeds and wildflowers.
11. Vacuuming Stairs One Step at a Time
The weekly vacuum routine always included the dreaded staircase, and somehow this task always fell to you. Dragging that heavy Hoover or Kirby up and down the steps, you’d work your way methodically from top to bottom, making sure to get every piece of lint and dust. The vacuum cleaner cord never seemed long enough, so you’d have to unplug and replug it multiple times as you worked your way through the house.
The worst part was maneuvering that bulky machine around the corners and trying not to bang it into the wall or the banister. You’d develop a rhythm—vacuum, move down a step, vacuum, move the cord, repeat—until you’d conquered the entire staircase. By the time you finished, you’d have gotten a full workout and developed muscles you didn’t know you had.
12. Organizing the Junk Drawer (Which Would Be Messy Again by Tuesday)
Every house had that one drawer—the mysterious catch-all where rubber bands, batteries, birthday candles, and broken toys went to die. Your weekend mission, should you choose to accept it (and you didn’t have a choice), was to bring order to this chaos. You’d dump everything out on the kitchen table and sort it into piles: keep, throw away, and “I have no idea what this is but it might be important.”
The organizing process was actually kind of fun, like archaeological excavation of your family’s recent history. You’d find old receipts, dried-up pens, loose buttons, and that toy you’d been looking for three months ago. You’d create neat little sections with rubber bands holding things together and everything in its proper place, feeling proud of your organizational skills. Of course, by the following Tuesday, the drawer would be back to its natural state of chaos, but for a few brief days, it was a thing of beauty.
Those weekend chores weren’t just about getting things done—they were about learning responsibility, being part of something bigger than yourself, and understanding that families work together to make a home. Sure, we grumbled and complained, but looking back, those Saturday morning task lists taught us lessons that no classroom ever could. We learned the value of hard work, the satisfaction of a job well done, and the importance of contributing to the family team, even when we’d rather be outside playing or watching TV.
This story 12 Weekend Tasks Every Kid in the ’70s Got Roped Into—Without a Second Thought was first published on Takes Me Back.
