Mowing the Lawn, Part III

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Actual Man's Work for Actual Men

(Thanks to Sam and Grookey for their contributions to this post.)

When I was a boy, neither I nor anyone I knew ever said, "When I grow up, I want to be the kind of man who excels at killing spiders." Some of us may have enjoyed killing or otherwise utilizing spiders for our own youthful purposes, but our fantasies of grown-up freedom and manhood were probably not built around dead arachnids. Secret agents, pirates, and superheroes do not kill spiders -- they are killers of men. They have adventures; they buckle swashes; they conduct daring night-time missions. That's what most of us wanted. We wanted an adult life filled with missions.

Then we grew up, and we looked around and realized that we weren't buckling any swashes. There was a distinct lack of espionage. For most of us -- those of us who are not professional daredevils -- we spend exactly zero minutes of our week jumping cars over other cars, or over any objects at all. Where did our missions go?

The Novelty Trap

Sam just wrote a couple of posts about mowing the lawn.  This happens to be one of the chores with which I have the very worst associations.  I think of hot, humid southern summers, dust & clippings blowing in my eyes, and the invariably negative judgment of my stepfather-at-the-time of anything that I did yard work-wise.  (Not perfect enough.  Do again.)

Far be it from me to dissuade Sam from his enjoyment of mowing the lawn.  But I did worry, reading his post, that he was falling into the Novelty Trap.  (Sam has gone and added an asterisk to his enjoyment of lawn-mowing!  Whatever.  I soldier on.)

Mowing the Lawn, Part II - The Epiphany

While I was mowing the lawn, as referenced in Mowing the Lawn, Part I, I had some time to think about an argument I had with my girlfriend. I thought a more detailed account would be worthwhile, so here it is.

Mowing the Lawn, Part I

It really is a strange thing to enjoy mowing the lawn - it's such a process! You begin by getting out of your chair, putting on underpants, maybe some shorts or other outer-garment (so as to not offend passersby), shoes (so you don't cut your baby-soft feet on sharp blades of grass) and a T-Shirt or "wife-beater." You may go topless if desired, but consider two things: sunburn on your pale, defenseless skin, and neighbors seeing your pasty-white glory in its near entirety. Make your choice. Then go out to your garage or shed to get out your mowing apparatus. Unless you are like Geaf and have put your hard-earned cash into an awesome, electric lawnmower which stealthily glides through the yard, you should already have a fuel container and/or a full tank in your mower. You pull it out into the yard. You start it up. You're mowing the lawn.