Yesterday,
my oldest daughter, Haleigh, left for Italy. She is going to study abroad with
the program from Harding University. After she left, I felt the saddest
emotions I have felt since… well, since we dropped her off at college back in 2011.
I
always enjoyed the writings of the late Erma Bombeck. Years ago, when I was a
boy or a young teenager, she related a story that psychologists, writers, and
even Ronald Reagan have shared with their audiences. It seemed so apropos to
what I was feeling that I thought I would share it with you. Warning, you might
want to grab a box of Kleenexes before you read!
When Mike was three he wanted a sandbox, and his
father said, “There goes the yard. We’ll have kids over here day and night
and they’ll throw sand and it’ll kill the grass for sure.”
And
Mike’s mother said, “It’ll come back.”
When
Mike was five, he wanted a jungle gym with swings that would take his breath
away and bars to take him to the summit. And his father said, “Good
grief! I’ve seen those things in back yards, and do you know what the
yards look like? Mud holes in a pasture! Kids digging their gym
shoes in the ground. It’ll kill the grass.”
And
Mike’s mother said, “It’ll come back.”
Between
breaths, when Daddy was blowing up the plastic swimming pool, he warned, “They’ll
track water everywhere and they’ll have a million water fights and you won’t be
able to take out the garbage without stepping in mud up to your neck and we’ll
have the only brown lawn on the block.”
And
Mike’s mother said, “It’ll come back.”
When
Mike was twelve, he volunteered his yard for a camp-out. As the boys
hoisted the tents and drove in the spikes, Mike’s father said, “You know those
tents and all those big feet are going to trample down every single blade of
grass, don’t you? Don’t bother to answer. I know what you’re going to
say – ‘It’ll come back’.”
Just
when it looked as if the new seed might take root, winter came and the sled
runners beat it into ridges. And Mike’s father shook his head and said, “I
never asked for much in life – only a patch of grass.”
And
Mike’s mother said, “It’ll come back.”
Now
Mike is eighteen. The lawn this year is beautiful – green and alive and
rolling out like a carpet along the drive where gym shoes had trod; along the
garage where bicycles used to fall; and around the flower beds where little
boys used to dig with teaspoons.
But Mike’s father doesn’t notice. He looks
anxiously beyond the yard and asks, “Mike will come back, won’t he?”
Next
time you feel irritated with your children, remember Mike’s dad.
