When Walt Whitman decided to name his famous collection of poems, Leaves of Grass he must have had some neighborhood kid doing his mowing for him. Our lawn needs to be mowed and I am not the least bit inspired to write a poem: "O Captain! My Captain! The Lawn, it must be Shorn. The Green Stuff now is Three Feet Tall-next year let's just plant corn." Our grass is not super long. We haven't lost any dogs or kids in it, yet. It didn't look too bad until our neighbors...on both sides...had the nerve to mow theirs! Every now and then, on FirstNews, I will use the show to tell my older sons to get out and cut the grass. I'll let you in on a little secret: it's all a lie. First of all, the odds of them being up and watching dad are slim to none, especially in the summer...well, okay, anytime of the year. Secondly, I end up mowing the lawn more often than not. There are a couple of reasons for that: they have much busier social calendars than I do and I sort of like mowing the lawn.

Growing up, I watched my brothers mow the lawn with a rusty push mower...powered by their own legs. After they had all moved out, but before I was old enough to safely mow, my dad bought a power mower. My brothers always thought that was totally unfair...not so much because they felt my dad should have to push the old mower but because they knew that my lawn mower years at home would be much less labor intensive. Pull the cord and go. And, I did. I mowed our lawn and a others in the neighborhood for a couple bucks. Mowing afforded me a great opportunity to get lost in thought and earn a little dough at the same time. Sometimes I would solve all the world's problems by the time I was done but most often I would imagine myself, in a tux, on stage in Las Vegas with Nelson Riddle and his orchestra. Once, at full volume, in the middle of a second chorus of The Lady is a Tramp a friend walked up behind and scared the Sinatra right out of me.

Every now and then, our neighbors would take me out to their Grandpa's house to mow his rather expansive lawn. The best part was the chance to mow using the rider! Kids who grown up on farms start driving vehicles of all shapes and sizes pretty early on. In fact, one my best friends was actually born in the Farmer's Co-op wearing a John Deere cap and carrying keys to the combine. But, that was for farm kids. If you were a townie, a riding mower was sometimes the important first step toward getting your wheels. Those were good times...tooling around that big green patch, pretending to be a trucker on a long haul or an Indy driver. Sometimes my mind would wander too far and the result looked like something aliens left behind. Aliens who'd spent their visit taking tours of the Old Milwaukee brewery and plant.

I still like to mow today but I am not fanatical about it or about lawn care in general. Our yard is not the worst or best in the neighborhood. It could never be the best. We have one guy who is very exacting about his grass. His mowing stripes are perfect. He does that diagonal deal. I usually just go up and down or back and forth. Once I tried the diagonal design and our lawn looked like an extremely nervous green zebra. He has no weeds anywhere. I think his weeds make their way to our lawn...on purpose. If crab grass and dandelions are the Pilgrims, then our lawn is Plymouth Rock. His sidewalks are precisely edged. I go for that "take-the-mower-down-the-middle-of-the-sidewalk" look. Honestly, I appreciate our neighbor's efforts and obvious flair for lawn care. It totally removes any pressure I would otherwise feel about the look of our yard. Not that I would be that diligent anyway. As my father always told me, when I was faced with a seemingly impossible task, "If at first, you don't succeed. Quit."

So, as I said at the start, I mow the lawn. But I make the boys do the trimming. My mom felt that a lawn that was mowed but not trimmed was like a haircut without getting your neck shaved. At other times, she would say that a haircut without getting your neck shaved is like mowing the lawn and not trimming. It was really a catch-all philosophy. The only real rule I have about mowing is to do it on a Thursday. That way it looks good for all the weekend visitors but you don't eat up your Friday. As it turns out, we never have weekend visitors and Fridays are about the same as any other day. Still, I think it's good to have some sort of strategy. And, maybe, I should just turn over the whole thing to the big boys.

"O Captain! My Captain! Send your sons to do the work
While you stretch out on yon hammock and release your lazy, inner jerk."