If you grew up in the 60s or 70s, these 7 home expectations were drilled into you early

The smell of Pledge furniture polish still takes me straight back to Saturday mornings in 1968. That lemony scent meant one thing: Chore day.

My sisters and I would be up by seven, dusting every surface in our Pennsylvania home while The Monkees played on the kitchen radio. There was no discussion, no negotiation. This was simply what you did.

Growing up in the 60s and 70s meant absorbing certain household expectations like oxygen. They weren't questioned or debated; they were as fundamental as learning to tie your shoes.

These expectations shaped an entire generation, creating habits and mindsets that many of us still carry today, for better or worse.

Do you ever catch yourself automatically straightening a crooked picture frame in someone else's home? Or feel a twinge of guilt when you leave dishes in the sink overnight? That's the echo of these early lessons, still reverberating decades later.

1) Children should be seen and not heard

This phrase was the soundtrack of countless family gatherings. When adults were talking, children were expected to fade into the background like well-behaved ghosts.

I remember perching on our scratchy wool couch during my parents' bridge nights, desperately wanting to share what I'd learned in school that day, but knowing better than to interrupt.

The dining room table had an invisible hierarchy. Adults discussed mortgages, politics, and neighborhood gossip while we children ate in careful silence, speaking only when directly addressed. "How was school today?" warranted a brief response, not a dissertation.

This expectation taught us patience and respect, certainly. But it also meant that many of us reached adulthood without ever learning how to insert ourselves into important conversations or advocate for our own needs. We became expert listeners but struggled to find our own voices.

2) Your chores were non-negotiable

There was no chore chart with gold stars in our house. You simply knew what was expected, and you did it. Period. As the youngest of four sisters, my jobs started small - setting the table, feeding the cat - but grew with me like a second skin.

By age ten, I was ironing my father's postal uniforms every Sunday night, the steam rising up while Ed Sullivan introduced the next act on our black and white TV.

My sisters handled dishes, laundry, and keeping our shared bedroom tidy enough that you could actually see the floor.

Missing a chore wasn't an option. It wasn't about punishment exactly; it was about letting down the family unit. The house ran because everyone contributed, and shirking your duty meant someone else had to pick up your slack.

The guilt was worse than any grounding could have been.

3) Respect your elders, always

"Yes, ma'am" and "No, sir" were as automatic as breathing. Every adult was Mr. or Mrs. Something, never their first names. Even now, I struggle to call my elderly neighbors by their first names, though they've insisted for years.

This respect went beyond words. You stood when an elder entered the room. You offered your seat on the bus. You carried their groceries without being asked.

When my mother's sewing circle met at our house, I served coffee and cookies, then disappeared unless specifically invited to stay.

But what happened when those elders were wrong? What if Mr. Henderson down the street said something racist, or Aunt Ruth spread harmful gossip?

We swallowed our objections because challenging an adult was simply unthinkable. The expectation of blind respect sometimes meant enabling behavior we knew in our hearts was wrong.

4) Make do with what you have

"We have food at home" was the answer to every restaurant request. "Your shoes will last another season" ended any mall dreams. My mother could transform last night's roast into three different meals, each somehow distinct from the last.

Clothes were handed down through all four of us sisters like a relay race, each hem let down or taken up, each stain creatively covered with an embroidered flower or strategically placed patch.

I wore my oldest sister's prom dress to my own junior dance, twelve years after she'd first worn it.

This taught us resourcefulness and creativity, skills that served us well in lean adult years. But it also instilled a deep reluctance to invest in ourselves, a guilty feeling about wanting something new when the old thing still technically functioned.

5) Family dinner is sacred

Six o'clock meant dinner, no exceptions. Soccer practice, homework, phone calls with friends - nothing trumped the family meal. We gathered around our Formica table like it was an altar, passing dishes clockwise, sharing the highlights and lowlights of our days.

My father would tell us about the dogs he'd encountered on his mail route, making each one a character in an ongoing saga. My mother shared gossip from her sewing clients, careful to change names "to protect the innocent." We learned to tell stories, to listen, to wait our turn.

These dinners grounded us, creating a rhythm and reliability in our lives. But they also meant missing out on after-school activities, study groups, and social opportunities that conflicted with the sacred dinner hour.

6) Keep family business private

"Don't air your dirty laundry" was more than a saying; it was gospel. What happened in our house stayed in our house. Period.

When my parents argued about money, when my sister got in trouble at school, when Dad lost his temper over a dented fender - these stories never left our walls.

This created a fierce family loyalty, a circle of trust that felt unbreakable. But it also meant we never learned that other families struggled too. We thought everyone else had it figured out while we were the only ones dealing with problems. The isolation was suffocating sometimes.

7) Waste nothing

Empty margarine containers became Tupperware. Worn out clothes became cleaning rags. Every button was cut from shirts before they joined the rag pile, saved in an old cookie tin for future repairs.

The phrase "waste not, want not" was carved into our consciousness.

We saved aluminum foil, washing and smoothing it for reuse. Birthday wrapping paper was carefully removed and folded for the next celebration.

Even now, I catch myself washing ziplock bags, hearing my mother's voice saying, "They're perfectly good for another use."

Final thoughts

These expectations shaped us in profound ways, creating a generation that values hard work, respect, and family bonds. But they also left some of us struggling with perfectionism, difficulty expressing needs, and guilt over self-care.

The key isn't to reject these lessons wholesale, but to examine them honestly, keeping what serves us and gently releasing what doesn't.

Our childhood homes may have been ruled by rigid expectations, but our adult homes can be guided by conscious choices.