For many summers, I watched Mickey D go all ‘suburban dad’ and tackle the patchy grass in our backyard. He never just threw down grass seed. He would roll sections of the lawn, aerate, lug home soil and fertilizer to spread and then get to spinning generous amounts of seed. He would hammer stakes around the perimeter and affix ropes to keep the boys away from his freshly prepared ground. The sprinkler would be strategically placed to generously water the entire plot.
Each time, there was clear evidence that feet had found their way into his pen and kicked up a fuss. You would see where each stray soccer ball had landed and been retrieved, the downed rope, the leaning stakes – no Sherlock Holmes needed to solve the case of why the grass never became the dream lush lawn daddio dreamed of. Eventually, Mickey gave up and accepted that our three boys were more interested in kicking balls, wrestling and turning that sprinkler on each other than in our curb appeal.
We can have a beautiful lawn now with not much risk of interference. We’d rather have brown grass and busy little feet again.2