Weekend Memories

Lots of “moving” business needed to get done today, and it was, and part of that business was realizing I need to mow the lawn of the new place this weekend.

And that made me think of my Dad.

He and I get along well these days, but that wasn’t always the case, and our most vehement headbutting (After my belief that my grades were MINE, and so long as I wasn’t in trouble at school, he didn’t need to see them, that is; I never won that one, of course, but I’m pretty sure I made noise about it every time.) almost always involved the need for the lawn to be mowed “this weekend.”  To me, “this weekend” meant Sunday, and if it rained, then I did it next Sunday if the lawn could wait that long, the first dry afternoon that followed if it couldn’t.   

But to Dad, “this weekend” meant Saturday, because it might rain if you waited until Sunday. I don’t recall him ever actually SAYING “Saturday” mind you, but that’s what he meant.

In hindsight, this is obvious.  At the time though . . .

Well . . . our usual pattern became Dad getting angrier and angrier as Saturday progressed, until he started reminding me that I needed to get the lawn cut “this weekend,” to which my response was a predicable “Yeah, yeah.” 

I doubt I need to paint you a picture from there.  Suffice it to say that summer, when lawns need to be cut the most frequently, contained several LONG weekends in our household.

Dad got the last laugh in the end though.

That lawn I need to mow this weekend . . . I’m going to do my best to get it done on Saturday.

It might rain if I wait until Sunday, you know.

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