Graduating from Home Economics

Home economics class was mandatory for girls when I was in 7^th grade. Boys took shop. It was the 1970s, and I lived in Middle America. There we were at the height of the feminist movement, and what were we doing? The boys were making bookshelves and using a soldering iron, while the girls were making white sauce, pulling an elastic through a skirt waistband, and making sure our soup was served “piping hot.”

As it happens, my mother, grandmother, aunts, and cousins were all remarkable cooks and seamstresses. So, long before I’d walked through the doors of West Junior High School, I’d learned how to sew, cook, and knit.  More importantly, I could make a multicolored vest out of crocheted squares. This was very hip.

So, I really resented the fact that I had to take home ec. The teacher was a priss, and though probably in her late 20s, she seemed to cling to a vision of womanhood that was at least two decades behind the times.

Reforms came a year or so later, when pressure from the girls convinced the school administration to drop the gender requirements and let everyone choose between shop and home economics. By the time we got to high school, things had really improved. The domestic science classes had become electives, more practical, and open to anyone. They also touted perky new names like: Know Your Auto (a hit with the girls); Let’s Cook! (surprisingly popular with the boys); and Ready, Set, Sew!

The irony of all this is that historically, home economics was an incredibly progressive and feminist field of study, developed to get women into higher education and leadership positions. Known initially as domestic science, it became a real stepping stone for 19^th century women’s entry into serious careers (e.g., teaching or work in agricultural extension services, state and federal governments, industry, hospitals, restaurants, and hotels) thanks to the establishment of the land grant college system in 1862. Unlike private colleges, which largely excluded female students, the land grant institutions were coed and publicly funded. Courses in home economics were targeted at farm wives and focused on household management. The instruction was far more interdisciplinary (and interesting) than the kind of stuff they were serving up in my day. Topics included budgeting, consumer economics, nutrition, child development, fiber science (!), and agriculture.

In the mid-1990s, the term “home economics” was dropped in favor of a new term, “family and consumer science.” The change is supposed to reflect the fact that the field has once again moved beyond cooking and sewing to regain some of its former relevance.

Meanwhile, I’m now in my fifties. In all the years that have passed since my 7^th grade home ec class, I have never worried about whether or not the soup I was serving was “piping hot”.  I’ve cooked meals, hosted parties, sewn lots of Halloween and other costumes, accumulated advanced degrees, balanced work and family life, and served in senior management positions.

But now, more than ever, I could use guidance in the domestic science department.  I could use the steady, stern hand with which my grandmother, and even one of my aunts, used to manage a part of their household that I’ve only encountered in recent years – the domestic staff. Until I moved abroad, it just wasn’t part of the curriculum, in school or in life.

Hiring and managing household staff comes with the territory when you are an expat in a developing country. Labor is cheap, and you are an important source of employment. But to me, it’s very different from managing staff at work. It’s literally close to home, and far more invasive than office politics. So I’m learning by doing. And if I occasional blunder, well, at least I can make a white sauce.

Our expat kitchen