Magic Hamper offers important lessons

A lady I know says that when her children finally went off to a distant college, they returned with a new and profound appreciation of all the little, thankless things she had done for them while they were living at home. One of these was their laundry.

“We just put it in the Magic Hamper whenever it got dirty, and two days later it was washed, pressed and hanging in the closet,” they told her. “We never really paused to think of the many afternoons you spent alone in that laundry room sorting, pressing, making sure everything was just right for us when we needed it.”

The story made me think of my own “Magic Hamper.”

In my mid-30s, I found myself a single man again, and I was miserable. I had had my own Magic Hamper as a child – a mother who worked tirelessly to make sure her kids, if not always the most stylish, at least had a wardrobe that was clean, nicely patched and pressed – right down to the underwear.

I don’t remember ever telling her, “Thank you.” I don’t even remember consciously assuming that’s what mothers were for. It just was – magic.

When I got married, my wife took over these responsibilities because she wanted to be a good wife, and in those days, that’s what good wives did. In addition, she kept the house and kids, did the cooking and worked full time.

I don’t ever remember telling her, “Thank you.”

From one Magic Hamper to another, I had never really learned to do my share of all the little drudgeries that make a marriage a true partnership. Possibly, that was part of the reason I was divorced after 13 years, sitting in a tiny apartment staring at a pile of dirty clothes and trying to figure out what went wrong.

My mother, bless her heart, once again came to my rescue.

“Just bring your laundry over on Wednesdays when you come for dinner,” she suggested. “The following Wednesday you can bring another load, and the first one will be ready to go.”

And that’s the way it was for two years – in on Wednesday, out the following week. The Magic Hamper was still working! I do think I was a little more appreciative that time around, as I had experienced a brief fling with Laundromats and wrestled terribly with a used Salvation Army iron that leaked rusty water onto anything white.

Still, clean clothes every Wednesday became so automatic that, after a time, I didn’t think much of it.

My mother went to a nursing home when she was 81 and died there when she was 84. Alzheimer’s disease had her in its unforgiving grip the last 10 years of her life.

Shortly after her incarceration, I had lunch with my father, a tall, vibrant man who was now grieving terribly. I mentioned the “Magic Hamper” to him, thinking it might brighten his day a little.

Dad smiled wanly as he stirred his coffee.

“Alan,” he said. “Your mother hasn’t done a load of laundry for 10 years. She thought she had, though. She also thought she was still cooking supper and helping me in the yard. The fact is, she has pretty much done nothing for a long time.”

“But what about all those perfectly pressed shirts and pants?” I asked. “What about Wednesday dinners?”

“What do you think?” Dad smiled. “It made her happy to think she was doing something for you. I didn’t mind cooking Wednesday dinners, Son, but the fact is, I got damn tired of folding your underwear.”