My Father's Daughter

Today, for the first time in my life, I mowed the lawn. That's tough work. Sweaty, dirty, clippings-flying-everywhere work. When I think back to my childhood (and for that matter, last month) - I can vividly remember my dad taking on this onerous task on a regular basis. It seemed almost every weekend, my dad would be out, mowing our [incredibly hilly] yard. Lawn mowing was such a predictable staple in our family's life, that we have early video footage of my two-old-brother asking my father "Daddy, why you no mow?" (The answer, as anyone who has seen the video knows - the grass was too wet.)

While my dad is my hero in every aspect of life, it's not until you are covered in sweat and grass clippings, with the distinct taste of gas fumes in your mouth - admiring your own freshly cut lawn, that you can truly appreciate the kind of work he really did. Every week. Without fail. Unless the grass was too wet.

(Thanks, Dad!)