But the only time I spent in
Bowling Green was at the Food Lion (supermarket) or the laundromat. I did
have a memorably sweet encounter one washday, watching clothes tumble in the
dryer alongside an 87-year-old man who seemed hungry for conversation.
He'd been married for 64 years, he told me, and in all that time he'd had to do
the wash only a handful of times. His wife was tending to their
terminally ill daughter, thus the domestic chores had fallen to him. He
seemed to want to talk about family -- understandably so -- and I spent a
poignant half hour listening to his reminiscences of growing up on a small farm
("We grew all our own vegetables and we had plenty of chickens and pigs
and a mule."), of building their first home (in which he and his wife
still live), of raising five children and seeing all of them graduate from
college ... and of the loss of one and impending loss of another of those
children.
In speaking of his life's low points I detected no bitterness
or regret; in speaking of the high points there was no immodesty or false
pride. "She's never seen me drink liquor nor utter a curse
word," he said of his relationship to his beloved wife. I thought
him a remarkable and admirable individual, and now and again my thoughts stray
back to him: as a person who'd spent his entire life in Tidewater Virginia,
he'd witnessed a lot of change ... and even more so because, as a person of
African descent, he would have to be the grandchild or perhaps great-grandchild
of slaves. How I wish I could've spent more time learning from him!
Need I say that it was the best
washday I've ever experienced?
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