Teenagers who are never required to vacuum are living in one.

Fred G. Gosman once declared with sharp wit, “Teenagers who are never required to vacuum are living in one.” At first, these words may seem merely humorous, a clever play upon a household chore. Yet beneath their jest lies a wisdom as old as civilization: that labor, however humble, is the foundation of responsibility, and that those who escape the duty of care may find themselves trapped in the very prison of idleness. To avoid the broom, the plow, or the vacuum is not freedom—it is a cage, invisible yet strong, that weakens the soul.

The ancients, though they had no vacuums, understood the sacredness of work. Among the Romans, even noble children were taught to serve in the household, for labor was the tutor of virtue. Among the Spartans, youths were hardened by tasks and trials so that they might not grow soft in spirit. Gosman’s words echo this truth: when teenagers are denied the discipline of ordinary duties, they are not spared hardship—they are instead consigned to the emptiness of entitlement, where the spirit grows restless and the heart ungrateful.

Consider the story of George Washington. In his youth, long before he became commander of armies and father of a nation, he was required to measure land as a surveyor and toil upon his family’s estate. These tasks, simple though they were, instilled in him habits of discipline, order, and humility. Had he been raised in a household where he was excused from every duty, where he “never had to vacuum,” so to speak, his greatness might never have taken root. His strength was born from labor, not luxury.

The metaphor of the vacuum holds yet deeper meaning. To live without responsibility is to dwell in a vacuum of the soul—a void where gratitude, resilience, and purpose cannot survive. For the youth who is never called to work does not learn the weight of effort nor the sweetness of rest earned honestly. Such a one becomes adrift, dissatisfied even when surrounded by abundance, because they have not learned the sacred law that joy is bound to effort, and freedom is anchored in discipline.

But let us not see this only as a chastisement of the young. It is also a warning to parents, elders, and teachers. To shield children from every burden, to spare them all chores, is not love but neglect. True love gives wings, yes, but also roots; it offers play, yes, but also the dignity of labor. By assigning a simple duty—a vacuum, a broom, a daily task—we give the young a gift more precious than gold: the knowledge that their hands matter, their strength matters, their responsibility matters.

The lesson is therefore clear: let no one pass through youth without learning the worth of work. For chores are not chains, but stepping-stones; not punishments, but preparations. A youth who vacuums the floor learns, silently, that no one is above service. A youth who cares for their home learns to later care for their nation, their family, and their own soul. Small duties, faithfully done, train the heart for greater duties yet to come.

Practical counsel may be given. To the young: do not despise the humble task, for in it lies hidden treasure. To the parent: require labor of your children, not in cruelty but in love, that they may taste both discipline and pride. To all: remember that the smallest acts of responsibility—the sweeping of a floor, the tending of a garden, the tidying of a room—are sacred rites that bind the spirit to gratitude and strength.

Thus Gosman’s jest becomes a teaching for the ages. “Teenagers who are never required to vacuum are living in one.” Let us then break free from the vacuum of entitlement and idleness. Let us fill that emptiness with duty, with honor, with labor that sanctifies the day. For when the young learn to serve with their hands, they learn also to lead with their hearts, and the home, the community, and the world itself are made stronger.