(I’m listening to P.M. Dawn – I’d Die Without You)

The wife and I do a really good job of giving each other “free time.”  It’s intentional.  We realize it’s just as important for us to do things by ourselves as it is for us to do things together.  Today I’d spent some of my free time skateboarding and thinking about Mr. Brock, a man for which I mowed lawn when I was a teenager.

Rewind a bit to Thursday night.  Thursday night was girl’s night.  The wife had a night out planned with some friends.  She asked if I could please be home from work on time.  I surprised her by being home early (this scored some points).  She went out with her friends and had a great time.  I stayed home with the little ladies and had a great time.  She came home and we talked about our schedule for the weekend.  She said her work for the week was done so I could head up to the mountain on Friday before work.  Bless her heart.

My mom texted me late Thursday night.  She told me Bob Brock had died.  Mr. Brock was a customer on my paper route when I was 15.  He also had a large house with a huge yard and he was meticulous about it.  He mowed it four or five times a week.  He didn’t catch the lawn clippings; he just let them fall back into the yard.  It rivaled a professional baseball field.  That grass was so green and it just went on forever.  It was like walking on a sponge.  The yard was perfect.  It might have been the best yard in a town full of people who took extreme pride in their lawns.  Rumor has it there are laws in my hometown about how long your yard can be.  I think it’s six inches.  I’m not sure what the consequences are for being above the legal limit.  Maybe it’s called a “YUI” and there’s a fine, maybe jail time? I have no idea because I don’t think anyone has ever dared to test the law.  That town cared about its yards.  Anyway, back to Mr. Brock.

Mr. Brock was an older gentleman.  He was in his 70’s.  He had worked in the Reagan administration.  As it turned out, it wasn’t just his yard that was meticulous, everything about him was meticulous, but somehow it all had a purpose.  He was always dressed in khaki pants and a khaki shirt that had been pressed.  He wore a red had and always had a rag hanging out of his back pocket.  He also wore work boots that had many miles on them.  It was like he was the owner of a lawn mower store in the 1950’s.  He was very polite and professional.  He always called me “sir” and I always called him, Mr. Brock.

One day, I was collecting my monthly fee for the newspapers I delivered to Mr. Brock.  We began to talk about his yard.  He told me he was looking for someone to help him in the yard, particularly to mow.  I told him I had a little mowing experience from toiling away on my father’s yard for years and that seemed to be enough for Mr. Brock.  He told me to come back tomorrow after my paper route, I could mow his lawn, and he’d make a decision.

The next day, I was a bit nervous when I rode my bike to Mr. Brock’s house after my paper route.  It was kind of like da Vinci asking me to do a little work on the Mona Lisa.  I got behind the mower.  Mr. Brock started it up for me.  I had never heard a lawnmower hum like that before, or ever again.  It was perfect and I’ll never forget that sound, just a gentle, “Whrrrrrrrrrr.”  On the throttle, a thin line had been scratched on the metal.  I was told to put the throttle no further than that line.  If I did, the blades would spin too fast and it wouldn’t cut the grass as well.  Yes sir.  I began to mow.  Two laps around the outer boundary of the grass.  Every lap had to have the outside wheel track overlapped by the inside wheel.  Once I was done with the outer laps, I could cut diagonal lines across the middle.  I had to make sure to pick a fixed object to stare at, so at the end of the lap, I would have a straight line.  It was like Lawn Mowing 401.

I must have done alright because he offered me the job based on some conditions.  I would mow at least four times a week and at least two Saturday’s per month.  He would pay me $12 each time I mowed…after taxes.  Yep, he made me file taxes.  I mentioned he worked for Reagan, right?  If it rained, which it did a lot in Washington, I had to mow the first dry day that was available (except Sunday).  I had one request.  I asked it if would be okay if I wore a Walkman while I mowed.  For the first few weeks, he didn’t let me.  He wanted me to be able to hear the mower to make sure it was at the right speed.  He relented once I proved my worth.

I skateboarded or rode my bike to Mr. Brock’s house, almost every other day, for the next three years.  The last year, I drove my car.  I even quit the paper route.  Although it’s been more than 20 years since I mowed Mr. Brock’s lawn, I remember it like it was yesterday.  I can remember the exact patterns in which I would mow.  I can remember, the songs I heard on “Vancouver’s new music station, ZED 95.3!” Those songs have a special nostalgia associated with them when I hear them today.  I can remember the smell of the exhaust of the motor, the softness of the sod beneath my feet, and the green…man, that yard was so green.  I can even picture the view of Mt. Baker from his yard and feel the sun on my shoulders.

When I’m back home, I always end up driving by Mr. Brock’s home.  It’s very close to my parent’s house, so it’s hard to miss.  It hasn’t been Mr. Brock’s home for a while.  He and his wife moved a while back, although I don’t know where.  I just know he doesn’t live there anymore.  He couldn’t have.  The yard is run down.  The current owners planted pine trees in the yard.  Underneath the pine trees are brown circles where brilliant green grass used to be.  The wonderful flowers and plants are overgrown.  Everything looks 40 years older instead of 20.  The immaculate yard is gone, and so is Mr. Brock.  He passed away this week.  He was 95 years old.  I’m sure he’ll have the best yard in Heaven.  Even though I haven’t seen him in years, part of me will miss him.

I was supposed to go snowboarding this morning.  My wife had given me some free time. She took the girls on an outing with some other moms.  I slept in.  I didn’t mean to.  My body just needed it, I guess.  Instead, I rolled out of bed, got ready and got out my skateboard.  As I was rolling around our street, I felt something familiar.  I felt the morning air, the sunshine, and it felt like lawn mowing weather.  I thought of Mr. Brock.  I can’t believe the memories I have from mowing a lawn.