Sunday, May 11, 2008
When I was a kid, my dad was pretty big on the yard when it came to my grandfather. Not a holiday went by that my grandfather didn't drive through the grass and my dad didn't fume and fuss. The irony is that my grandfather was no different with his yard, and not a visit there went by where the grandchildren (and son-in-laws) weren't put to work doing anything from picking up sticks to mowing, trimming and raking.
(Bless her heart, my wife continues the tradition to this day. She's the first to yell out the window anytime a neighborhood hoodlum cuts through our yard to bypass the corner sidewalk. I shudder to think should she ever get a gun.)
It's always been a running joke, then, about driving in the grass. So when my brother was pulling out yesterday with me in the passenger seat, I took this photo:
Thanks a lot, man.