Time to go old school in the mower department

Multi-tasking is an acquired skill we hone as we grow older, when the ever-increasing demands on our time begin to call for greater efficiency and productivity. Case in point, these words were written while I was cutting the grass in our backyard this past weekend, sweating and wiping my furrowed brow all the while.

Now, I know what you’re thinking – you have a keyboard on your lawn mower? How do type and wipe your brow simultaneously? And who’s pushing the mower?

Of course, I wasn’t literally writing and mowing at the same time because that wouldn’t be safe and because Apple has not yet introduced the iMower – at least not publicly. Not to mention, I don’t really multi-task that well. The words were merely taking shape in my head as I cut the grass, wondering how long it will be until one of my children finally starts cutting the grass.

We got our lawnmower 13 years ago, as a housewarming gift from my in-laws. By my count, I’m the only person to have used it since. We’ve grown quite attached in that time, close enough that I’ve given it a name – Mo, because it looks like a Mo to me, and what else would you name your lawn mower?

Mo is old and tired. His self-propel feature no longer works, his blade guard long gone, his bag drags on the ground, his handle is wobbly and his blade needs sharpened again, among other ills. In dog years, Mo would be mercifully put down, his many years of faithful service behind him.

Meanwhile, our oldest is at an age when he could be reasonably expected to cut the grass without hurting himself, assuming he could find the backyard and the lawnmower and do so without hurting himself. Sporto is 11 now, older than I was when I started mowing the lawn as a child, but still seemingly so young for such potentially dangerous responsibility.

I remember unfortunate experiences from my own early forays into grass cutting, both of which give me chills to imagine now. There was the electric mower we had, powered by an extension cord strung through the yard from either the house or the garage. You’d cut to the end of one row, turn the mower around, flip the cord to the other side of the mower – presumably out of the blade’s reach – and head back the other way. Lather, rinse, repeat. Except for the occasional times the mower would still cross paths with the cord. Oops.

Then there was the time I somehow nearly drove the riding mower up a tree, though I can’t imagine how this could possibly have happened other than by some flaw of adolescent thinking whereby I asked myself, “Hey, I wonder if I can drive this thing up a tree?” The answer of course was no, the mower instead flipping over on top of me, blade side up. Thankfully I was physically fine, though clearly mentally scarred to the point that later in life I would not trust my own children with power implements any larger than a pencil sharpener.

I fear what could happen should I turn the lawnmowing over to one of our kids. The neighbor boy, a year younger than our oldest child, has started mowing his grass and that of the widowed neighbor lady on the other side, seemingly without incident. I take some comfort in that, but not enough that I’ve bequeathed Mo to our oldest. Not just yet.

We joke that Sporto can be a little spacey at times, to the point where some chores are kept simple or not assigned at all for fear that he may get sidetracked while performing them. All of which is positively frightening when I remind myself that he’s just a little more than four years from driving age – unless we’re somehow able to get it raised by then, which I’ve been telling my kids I’ve been trying to do for as long as they can remember.

Amazing how your perspective on these things changes as you get older. Thirty years ago, no way I’d have ever thought that 16 was too young to drive. To the contrary, I remember thinking that day wouldn’t arrive soon enough. Now, in retrospect, I had no more business driving a car at 16 than I did a lunar lander. Or a lawn mower.

Nonetheless, the time is near when mowing will be Sporto’s chore of choice for a few extra bucks in his pocket, or to defray the cost of the data overages on his phone, no doubt incurred while he was texting and mowing. See, it’s dangerous! But it’s also a rite of passage, or a rite of grass age, as the case may be, though that sounds like something else entirely.

Summer is winding down. The lawn is beginning to turn brown as it does each August, and the kids are almost back in school. Grass cuttings have become less frequent, more now a function of clearing the yard of leaves and debris than to actually keep the lawn short.

In all likelihood we will retire Mo sometime soon, either this summer or next. Thirteen years seems about enough, and it wouldn’t be right to ask the boy to take over without equipment that is both properly safe and easy to use.

Kids won’t be kids forever. We have to let them grow up, to take on additional responsibility, to risk driving a lawn mower up a tree.

Yeah, push mower it is.

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Twitter: @RobManker

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Rob Manker is a freelance writer who lives, works, parents and tends his lawn in Naperville.