When I got home on Saturday, I noticed the lawn was long. We’ve had a lot of rain and the grass just keeps on growing. I asked my father if he would like me to mow the lawn; after all, I used to have a lawn mowing business when I was in high school.
OK. My mother assured me that my father would mow the lawn on Sunday afternoon. But then the phone rang and they were invited to a cook-out on Sunday afternoon. On Sunday morning, I again asked my father if he would like me to mow the lawn. Again, he game the same adamant response.
I worked in my garden on Sunday morning and then I went to The Farm for a walk. It was a beautiful day, with a gentle mosquito-stalling breeze. I was thinking about one of my classmates from high school who had lost her father this weekend and how difficult these losses are even when a person is mentally prepared for them. I was sad for my friend and knew that the beauty of the day would not be the same for her.
When I got home, my parents were still at the cook-out and the lawn was still looking shabby. I had never actually mowed my parent’s lawn; I was always busy mowing other people’s lawns for profit. I thought about my friend and how she would probably like to have one more chance to mow the lawn for her dad. I went out to the shed, pulled out the mower, and stoked it up.
My parents came home when I was halfway through and my father gave me a few tips and pointers. Then he went out in the back yard and started moving the lawn furniture out of my way.
I mowed the lawn.
Not too shabby!
Hey, Daddy-oh, you can do the clipping!