I am at the Laundromat in the middle of the afternoon, my favorite time to go there because it is usually empty. But not today. It is packed with people, mostly young, black men. And they are jumping and packing and unloading machines. Someone who looks to be a grandmother sits and reads a magazine. The mother is bracing one boy's hair.
"What is everyone doing here today,? Where did all of you come form",I ask jokingly.
"It's laundry day," the grandmother tells me, "and Vivian is getting all the boys to help. They home from college and they have to do they own laundry", she tells me with a sense of pride in her daughter for holding these boys accountable.
"Are all of these boys yours?", I ask the mother as she gets up and barks orders at them.
"All mine", she says proudly.
"And that's not all of us boys", says one of them. "There are two more at home".
"How many boys" I want to know.
"Seven and two girls", chimes in another.
"Seven boys and two girls, well you are one lucky dog", I joke with the mother.
She laughs uproariously, "You, that's the only way you can describe it. I am one lucky dog.". With that she points her finger to the car and all those boys get up, mobilize and fill the trunk with clean laundry.
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