The Wimbledon Tennis Tournament started on Monday, the first of 14 days, in what is most likely the most prestigious tournament of all.
Wimbledon is a British tradition, and no one does tradition better. There are the grass courts, and of course, the players all dressed in their tennis whites.
It seems strange, at first, after watching players in their bright and often neon colors. No colored shoes, socks, the matching shirts and shorts and the coordinated head and wrist bands.
I remember that when my Dad played, he wore all white. He played almost every day, at home and in Florida in the winter, and because he wore whites and, well, because sweating was involved, it meant a lot of laundry.
As my Mom was not big on housework, of which laundry is a part, Dad learned to do his own, as far as tennis clothes went.
But, a shirt, a pair of shorts, socks and briefs, don't make a full load. Dad would pull items from the dirty clothes to add to his light colored load. When the wash was done, he'd fold everything nice and neat, but he only put away his own clothes.
I guess he felt drawers were private, and arranged to the owner's preference. He would leave a small pile of Mom's unmentionable whites (usually T-shirts, bras and panties) on the foot of the bed for Mom to put away.
When I saw that little pile of clothes, I knew Dad had been doing laundry again, and it always made me smile.
This is why I watch Wimbledon, for the loving memories it inspires, of my Dad, my parents, both gone for too many years. Love and miss you both.