If I had liberty with the paper, I would do a study on my life from the washer and dryer’s point-of-view.
Early years: I was a chronic bed-wetter. How frustrated my mom must have been! I remember her changing my sheets – sometimes twice in one night.
Teen years: The athletic gear, clothes that smelled of Polo and Liz Clay borne, clothes that defined me as belonging to a group of my peers, pockets that contain love-notes and cheat-sheets, pillow cases from which I cried myself to sleep on.
College years: The habit of doing laundry became my own. No washer or dryer was personal, but the experience was mine. The coin-operated Laundry room in the basement of my dorm became my study hall. As I moved off campus, the Quality Dairy was open 24 hours and had a coin-op. Laundromat. I would go in the middle of the night to study and do my laundry.
Married with children: Laundry has again become collective. Here, it is no more an opportunity to study while the clothes go round and round, it is downright work. No more is it a single basket carried to and fro, but a major operation. Clothes make their way: carried down by the arm full, sliding down through shoots, kicked to the top of the basement stairs.
I now have less to do with the operation. My required activity is still in the middle of the night (my wife has given me the responsibility of “switching” it over).
Conclusion: I no longer wet the bed (ha!), but I have children that do…and I understand.
I no longer sweat over the pressures of belonging, but I will have children that will…and I will understand
I am not throwing any athletic gear into the wash. Now, it is work clothes. But sports taught me how to be motivated and self-disciplined, and rewards follow hard work.
I used to be alone and my laundry was solitary, but now it is surrounded. My clothes are tumbled amongst others in our family. When the laundry is separated and folded, each has their own, but for a moment they touched each other. Soon, my children will be gone, but for now, we are together and touching each other’s lives.
Empty nest: remains to be seen…