Among other hobbies, my stepdad, a teacher in our small community in West Virginia, had a side gig as a flea market entrepreneur—think Billy Ray Cyrus t-shirts and clip-on fans. For a number of years flea market paraphernalia was stored in the Book Room. When it was not needed as a bedroom, the Book Room was a dedicated office space. There were books, of course, as well as desks for us kids (there were six of us when we were all together), genealogy binders, a copier, and random office supplies including a huge stack of triplicate forms that had been used as receipts during the market years.
Eight-year-old me was intrigued by these magical forms. Besides spending time in the Book Room, I enjoyed spying on family members, particularly my brothers who were about a year younger than me. Convinced that my step-sister and I were asked to do more housework during those summers when I had longer visits with my mom, I began following our brothers, sneaking around corners with a triplicate firmly attached to a clipboard, taking notes on my brothers’ actions.
In those years, I knew almost nothing about middle class occupations and had no idea that I was a budding social scientist engaging in ethnographic research: but I had a hunch about the inequitable gendered division of labor and I began collecting data. I don’t remember ever completing the scientific method of research—that is, creating a report and sharing it with others, such as my parents. But I never forgot the pleasure of collecting and analyzing data. Presenting my findings would come later.
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