Connor Closson’s winning high school essay ‘Why I Do the Dishes’

Every day, I am thankful that I have a bit of structure to it all. Doing the dishes after the hardest part of my day is over is my last – and sometimes only – little victory. The day itself can be as hard as any other, but I always know that the one thing I have a guaranteed victory against is the dishes. I am more than aware that making sure I have clean plates every morning for breakfast isn’t my sole reason for living. That would be stupid. But assuring myself that I have some control is. Having no control would be the end of me, and I’m proud to say that I haven’t “ended” yet.

What is it that makes it so important? The act of cleaning the dishes is mind numbing at best and tedious at worst, so I know it’s not that. The gratification of a job well-done is immediately diminished by the fact that job is the dishes, so it’s not that either. So, what is it? It’s the control. Now, when I say control, I don’t mean complete control. When I open the dishwasher, the possibility exists that water sitting at the bottom has grown stagnant and polluted the whole machine. This is less than ideal. In the same breath, a knife could be left accidentally pointing up, luring me in to prick my finger, and make my day substantially worse. Despite these things, I know I can still complete the job.

When driving the car could stall, and me with no knowledge of auto mechanics, would be stuck waiting for someone more prepared than me. Later, someone would come by and help no doubt, and they would probably feel good about it too. Cars, they know. But dishes, I know. I’ve been cleaning dishes a long time, and I think I’ve gotten pretty good at it. If somebody’s dishwasher stalled on the side of the road, I’d be the guy to call. That makes me happy. Knowing that there is one thing, however small, that I can always do is a good feeling, one I hope everyone can know at least once in their lives. Everything in a day is up to chance. In the same day that my basement floods, my cat could die. In the same day that my TV breaks, I might get food poisoning from the bad shrimp I ate at the wedding I didn’t want to go to but felt obligated by all the same. But hey, there’s still the dishes. And I know how to do that right.

It’s not some great thing I’m made a hero by doing, I’m not so vain as to think that. But at 7 p.m., when I finally get home and I’m so tired I could cry, and I clean the three plates in the sink, I DO feel like a hero. On the really bad days I’ll dirty some dishes just so I could clean them. I remember once, I was without soap when I got home. It was late, and the store was far. I ran down the street to the gas station and stole some soap from a bathroom dispenser. When I got home, I cleaned the dishes and they had an awful scent the next morning. Somewhere between rat poison and hospital hallway. I ate off them all the same and cleaned them right after with the new soap.

I think anyone can relate to the desire for control. All I did was find a way to get it. Anyone can do it, just in different ways. Some people fix cars. Some teach when they are confident in a subject. Some cook, some paint, and some write. This was a lesson that took a painfully long time to grasp, and every day I didn’t know the value of control, my life was worse. Maybe that’s a testament to how I am, or maybe that’s normal. Is putting so much stock in a flimsy structure wrong? I don’t know. I just do the dishes, and that’s enough for me.