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Laundromat

February 6, 2020 by Don Kuhl

Some of my most embarrassing moments while in high school happened while I was forced by my mother to join my dad, Vern, in doing the weekly laundry. It included all the dirty underwear for the entire family. Of course, the laundromat was located right across the street from a malt shop and record store, popular hangouts for girls in my class I was trying to impress. 

Vern wasn’t too happy about the task either and sweated profusely just waiting for a dryer to open up. Socks went missing. Coin machines jammed. Vern and I faced off, folding sheets. He shook them hard, and the corners slipped from my fingers. Clean, damp linen hit dirty linoleum. Vern started to say nasty words but remembered our location and just uttered sounds, like a squirrel caught in a cage.

My greatest fear was realized when Pam Hawkins, a girl so pretty I was afraid to look up at her when we passed in the school cafeteria, was staring across at us from the record store. For the first time, she recognized me, smiled and waved. I think I was holding one of my sister’s Wonderbras.

Many years later, when my dad moved in with Sherry and me, we laughed about those awkward trips to the laundromat. Most bonding between fathers and sons took place at baseball games or fishing trips. Our bond was Tide Clean.

Footnote: I negotiated a date with Pam Hawkins my senior year.

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