In the heart of the 1980s, a young soul found solace in the melodies that filled the air on early Saturday mornings. The music would reverberate from the living room, heralding a day of cleaning and laundry, like clockwork. This auditory alarm signaled an impending chore-filled day, as my mother embarked on a mission to transform our Los Angeles apartment – affectionately referred to as "the hood" – into a haven of cleanliness. The air would become infused with the tunes of Smokey Robinson, complementing my mother's whirlwind of activity. She'd deftly prepare laundry baskets and pour bleach to sanitize...