Peeling potatoes

I am peeling 5 giant russet potatoes in my kitchen sink when I realize that I have never taught my kids to peel potatoes- a job that I did at a very young age. My mother would have us pull a number of potatoes out of the shelf in the back porch where we kept potatoes and bananas behind a screen door to keep the flies out.  The potatoes would be covered in black dirt, shipped to market straight from the earth they'd grown in. Too dirty to come inside the kitchen, I'd take them over to the shallow metal sink next to the porch's back door and tumble them in. I carried them in my t-shirt, stretched out and dirty. I washed them, then took the old metal handled peeler and started to scrape away.
The potatoes were full of eyes which I'd gouge out with the end of the peeler- so violent- so Greek tragedy. I peeled a little too much away, and thin layers of potato with just an edge of brown peel would pile up in the sink. After the pot was full, I'd take it inside to Mom, then go back out to clean up. The choicest pieces of peel- with large transparent spots of potato- would go into the parrot's cage, carefully so that he didn't bite my hand. The other pieces I had to gather up and take out to the garbage pit- the worst part of this onerous chore. Halfway down the hillside and stinky, the dark pit harbored large monitor lizards that would scuttle away at my approach, both of us petrified of the other. I grabbed the lid, threw in the peels, and dashed the lid back on. Sometimes the Tupperware with the peels in it would fly in, too. I would not retrieve it- that was my father's task. A quick rinse of the sink- it didn't have to be that clean- and I was done.
Now I just gather up the peels and put them in the garbage can 5 feet away. It opens with a push of my foot. The potatoes are cut up and put on the boil. I check there are no peels in the garbage disposal and I am done.