Summer's Dawn

When does Summer begin for you? My calendar says June 21st, but the FEELING of Summer always came around Memorial Day, and of course settled in once school let out for the Summer. School years provide wonderful marking points for time, but once I found myself working year-round, every week began to feel the same. Memorial Day still helped, but it was really the weather, the point where it was too hot to go outside and my parents took the fans out of storage, that I felt it.

Spring is undoubtedly my favorite month, those first few days when the snow has melted and it's warm enough to leave jackets behind. Of course, it's also the time when shoveling snow is replaced by mowing the lawn. My dad asked me to cut the grass for the first time this year last weekend, but rain made that impossible. This morning he made his request again, and I once more agreed. He went on to think out loud that maybe he should do it before the weekend since it may rain again, but I assured him that if it rained Saturday, I'd keep my word on Sunday.

As I was leaving for work my mom got up to see me off and while my dad was in the other room, strongly suggested I cut the lawn this weekend so he didn't, especially since agonizing shoulder pain that had plagued him for weeks was finally subsiding and he was itching to “push” himself. My dad is an old-school hard worker. 75 years or not, once his various aches and pains are on hiatus he's out carrying ladders and cutting trees and fixing cars, only to feel it later on and wonder why he shouldn't be able to do the things he always does. My mom was coming at me from a place of concern because of this, but she was coming across as scolding me which struck a nerve, especially since I had already agreed when my dad asked me earlier. As I continued rushing to pack my lunch and gym clothes and get out the door for work, already late, she continued to belabor the point. I explained that when I'm at work during the week I have no control over what my dad does, and I can't be there to help except for the weekend.

I've never given my parents any reason to trust my word or believe I can work as hard as they do. At some point they just accepted that I was lazy and would agree to things just to silence them, and then not actually do them. ”Put the laundry away.”—“OK.” “Vacuum the house while we're out.”—“uh-huh.” “Feed the cats.”—“Sure.” After years of having to tell me things more than once, it shouldn't surprise me that they repeat themselves and each other. Even now there are times when I'm watching television or playing a game and agree to something without listening, only to hear an “I thought I told you to--” hours later. But I've gotten a lot better, and I'm not that kid anymore. I'm not a kid at all. I don't WANT them to push themselves. I WANT to beat them to the heavy stuff, pull my weight, and repay them for all the years they were there for me. When my dad asks me to help him and I give my word, I aim to keep it. It bothered me that my mom felt the need to stress the importance. My whole ride in to work I wracked my brain wondering if I'd ever undo the first, second, third, fourth and so on impressions of my work ethic I'd instilled in them over the years. Even at lunch, one of my friends was reminiscing about the Little Rascals, and of all the episodes to talk about he described one where the kids cut a lawn and accidentally destroy some carpets that were left out. I couldn't get the lawn thing out of my mind. In the afternoon, I heard my friend Rey on the phone with his parents in Florida. He was speaking Spanish so I don't know what was said, but it reminded me more of the people waiting for me at home.

I didn't work late. I put a lot of hours in for people who aren't my family, and I've realized these last few months how unimportant an office job is outside of a paycheck and benefits. I got down to the gym early, and got home while it was still light out. I told them I was going to cut the lawn and asked them if they thought 7PM was too late, if it would disrupt the neighbors' dinners. They said no, but why not wait until the weekend since my dad had to clear some other tools in the shed that would be in my way. “You'll never get that mower out.” was met with a “You underestimate me.” that came from I know not where. I then asked if I should mulch or bag since the first cut of the year my dad always likes to mulch. He quietly mumbled something about mulching already at which point my mom said, “He cut the lawn a few weeks ago.”

Mystery solved. THAT'S why his shoulder had been bothering him, and THAT'S why she was so determined to have me do it before he got impatient and hurt himself again. He admitted so quietly to having done it too, like a kid caught stealing cookies. I got the lawnmower out with little effort, and cut the lawn in a record 20 minutes(it's normally a minimum half-hour task). I felt pretty good afterwards. I went at it while I was still energized from gym, and it felt like an extension of my workout. Most of all, it felt like SUMMER.

So here we are, on Cinco de Mayo, when Mexicans celebrate a military victory from 1862 and Americans celebrate an excuse to drink without knowing the origins, and while it's still not very warm yet, I feel like Summer has begun.