Washing by John Drinkwater

The year: 1998.

The setting: my parents’ dining room table.

The event: poetry night.

The reason: my mom fed up with us kids being able to remember every line from television and movies, instituted poetry night in order to put our memories towards something beautiful and worthwhile.

We could memorize whatever we wanted. There was a lot of Shel Silverstein, a few Robert Frosts. My sister even wrote a poem.

Roses are red

Violets are blue

Poems stink

And I hate rhyming.

(*Joke was on her though because 15 years later, she married a poet)

But no poem would ever cement itself in our collective memory like the poem Washing by John Drinkwater. My dad, to support my mom’s effort, decided to join in on poetry night. But he didn’t want to just read it, oh no, he was going to memorize it. He began…

“Washing, by John Drinkwater. What is all this washing about? …”

Pause, look around to recall the next line.

“Washing, by John Drinkwater. What is all this washing about?….”

Another pause, more looking at the ceiling as he tried to recall the next line.

“Washing….”

This went on for a good 5 minutes before my sweet, patient, enduring mother finally jumped in and said “New Rule - anyone OVER 40 has to read the poem, not memorize it!”

And that is how this poem by John Drinkwater became a family legend.

So when schools and activities got closed down due to quarantines and we found ourselves with some extra time on our hands, I decided I would have the girls memorize a poem. And what poem immediately popped into my brain? What poem do I not only have a sweet personal connection with but is actually quite timely with world wide current events and the extreme hand washing it has caused? None other than Washing by John Drinkwater.

So please, enjoy our short film, in honor of this season of intense hand washing and in honor of my Dad, who could never quite get past the first line of the poem.