Laundry Day

There was a laundromat on Damen, close to the house thank God because dragging your laundry out into the City of Chicago was never an easy task. The machines were kept clean enough and if you knew when to go, you could avoid the mothers with all of their children and 15 washers worth of dirty clothes.

It was a spring evening after work, still cold enough to wear my brown, fleece-lined, flight jacket unzipped. It was originally my father’s jacket, a gift he bought himself many years after he left the Navy. I inherited it after he died- well not right after. I first had to finish grade school, then high school, then flight training in college before I felt right about wearing it and before it would fit, frankly. It was one of the only things of his that I owned. Read more…