I Don't Speak Mandarin, But I Like Oranges

Around the house I'm commonly referred to as "Hop Sing". Prior to calling me a racist, in addition to a redneck, let us recall the glory days of TV, and a show called "Bonanza".



The premise: Ben Cartwright had 3 sons, they were "brothas from different mothas" - sound interesting? It gets better - the mothers are all dead. For lack of the National Enquirer back then, Ben was able to stick to the natural causes story.

Anyway, these three young, virile men all live together at their big old ranch house called "The Ponderosa". (You didn't think the steak house just came up with that name did you?) Alone that is, but for their loyal manservant, Hop Sing.

Now I don't know what Hop-a-long did other than cooking and laundry, but I can assure you that I have earned that moniker solely for my ability to shrink wool sweaters without batting an eye. I have gotten better at not doing that anymore, but if I forget to bring my reading glasses with me, accidents do happen.

While driving back from Syracuse today, I thought that perhaps someday I would write a book called "Things I Learned While Doing The Laundry". Sounds pretty idiotic at first glance, but give it a minute.

I started doing the laundry a few years ago because my job allows me to have my office in my home. Since my wife worked as an RN, and we were raising three children, it seemed like the right thing to do. When my mother passed away in 1998, it became more than just a chore around the house, because it made me think of her.

Imagine yourself in 1959, you have four kids born in '51, '53, '54, '55 (the three in succession were all born in April - nothing like having a schedule and sticking to it). You're not wealthy and the washing machine has a wringer attached to the back of it. The actual electric washer and dryer were still a few years away. In addition to everything else you have to do raising these four hellions, you have to do all of their laundry. As I look back on it now, and as I look at pictures of how she dressed my brother and I alike, and my sisters alike, suddenly I'm not feeling all that much sympathy for the laundry she had to do.

I guess if I ever do write that book, or just an essay about it, the first thing I'll note is that I learned is this: I owe a lot to my mother. She would have been 78 this past Sunday, and though the years have slipped away, her influence on me lives on, and will continue to do so through future generations.