Mowing The Field
The Field is a swatch of grass and weeds that is about 150 yards long by 50 yards wide. Over the years, my friends and I played every game you can think of on The Field - from tag to football and catch to golf.
Maintenance of The Field fell squarely and absolutely on my shoulders. I spent much of my childhood, teen, and young adult years mowing The Field, its half-sized sister field on the other side of the house, and the rest of the grass in front and around the house.
We only had a push mower. So I pushed and pushed and pushed my summers away. Most days after school I’d mow a little. I mowed a little more on the weekend. It always seemed I was mowing, mowing, mowing. Always.
When I moved out of the house in my early 20s, I handed the care of The Field back to my Pop. He promptly bought a ride-on mower.
When I asked him why he didn’t buy a ride-on mower when I was mowing, he simply answered, “I didn’t need one then.”
Bastard.
Pop is gone. I bought his house. Care of The Field has fallen back to me. One of the first things I bought when I moved in was, you guessed it, a ride-on mower.
I can’t get the ride-on mower started this spring. It turns over but never sparks. It could be that the gas line is clogged, or maybe the spark plug is no good, or maybe something more obscure than that. I don’t know.
What I do know is that I’ve resorted to mowing The Field with a push mower again. I guess I’m going to have to get the ride-on fixed, unless …
I have an 11-year-old son. He might be just old enough to push a lawn mower. Hmm …
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