I feel lucky to have grown up poor, because I’ve lived richly in the love that was given to me by my grandmother, and the small, yet heartfelt things she had done for me. Small things such as waiting for me to get back from school, having a warm meal ready for me everyday, and as much as I didn’t like it because of the hot, sticky conditions… spending our time together at the laundromat every Sunday afternoon. We were always so famished while doing our laundry for the rest of the family that the best part of those days was getting chinese takeout from the local restaurant right across the street after washing a couple of loads of laundry. I never used to wonder why we did not have our own personal washing machine and never really asked for one either because I was happy to spend time with my grams at the public laundry place. It was fun, enjoyable, and I got to be with my favorite person in the whole world.
Now that I have my own washer and dryer, I don’t go anymore… but even if I did it would feel like such a lonely task to do because of the meaning it holds. Isn’t it funny how being born into a certain class of living makes you think differently about places, values, and ideals? I feel that growing up the way I have has given me an appreciation for the little things in life, things that money can’t ever buy. Such as the memories of spending those days doing laundry with my grams.