Couches and Free Parking Spaces

When my mother was pregnant with my sister, her first child, she shared a story of the naps she took on a comfortable pink couch that was located in the ladies’ room where she worked. At that time, she worked as an Executive Secretary at General Electric in Lynn, Massachusetts. In the 1950s, it was not typical for women to work while pregnant. I was a bit surprised when she told me about her naps. Did my mother slip away into the ladies’ room and collapse on the couch to lift the fatigue of her first trimester? Did her boss feel she needed a rest because pregnant women were not capable of, and should not work? Did he see her potential and trust her, knowing that even with her naps, she would, and did meet the requirements of her job? From her story, I surmised that her boss had given her permission to rest as needed. It was with admiration for her boss that she shared this story and I recall that she was grateful.

After her first pregnancy, like many women during the late 1950s and 1960s, my mother remained at home and took care of us. She eagerly moved back into the work force in the early 1970s when we were old enough to come home to an empty house. Unfortunately, when she emerged enthusiastically from the home and into the workforce, so did we emerge into a working environment, but with a slow trickle, as we reluctantly helped with household chores. I found it irritating to come home from school to find that one of us had left breakfast cups and saucers on the table. Occasionally, I found the butter left out in its near liquid state, or the cream, a dry, flaky rim left around the inner ceramic container, both now waste. It had always seemed so lively when my friend Charlene and her sisters helped with chores and prepared dinner for their family of all women. The festivities of the meal preparation at Charlene’s did not make a landing in our kitchen in the same playful way. I resented the fact that the house was not neat and tidy, and that the idea of dinner was not first and foremost on someone else’s mind. Those were the days when I wished my mother was a “stay-at-home” mom.

It was evident that my mother was thriving as a working mom! She had always loved fashion, and her closet soon included her new purchases, as her job, and her appearance were important to her. She happily shared stories about work, her boss, Mr. Keating (although they were the same age, she did not address him by his first name), and her co-workers, the real estate brokers. Eventually, she hired someone to help with household cleaning. Her life had taken on a new dimension.

This position as an office manager at a small real estate firm in the Beacon Hill area of Boston, brought with it a commute that was far from relaxing. The traffic traveling north to Boston was, and continues to be heavy, slow-moving, stressful, and filled with drivers who give Boston the title of one of the worst places to drive in the United States. Fortunately, once my mother reached the city, waiting for her was a free parking space, provided by Mr. Keating, a benefit that lightened the load of that dreadful commute. Years later, before she fully retired, she received another benefit – time off to spend in Florida for a few months during the winter. She was not working remotely, and was not getting compensated, but her job was there when she came back in the spring. Even now, when I find myself in Boston’s Beacon Hill, I glance up at the round window in the building located on the corner of Beacon and Charles remembering the joy it brought to my mother.

As I reflect on my mother’s work experiences, I think of the benefits she received. I have no doubt that my mother worked diligently and deserved any benefits she reaped. How different are these benefits than what we desire and receive today? Who does not love a free parking space in the city, extended time off, or a little cat nap in the afternoon when we are not feeling well? Today, women work throughout their pregnancies, dress casually, address their managers by first name, and secretaries are called administrative assistants. But when our personal needs are addressed, our work experience becomes more positive, we are more productive and engaged, and everyone wins. That has not shifted.

In the early 2000s I met a woman who worked at GE as an engineer. The couch which my mother spoke so fondly of – it was still there years later. It was not that long ago that it was removed, she told me. I marvel at this – did the pink couch provide the same comfort to women decades later as it did to my mother? I hope so.