I had you on my mind Saturday, Dad. Fact is, you’re on my mind a lot more that you would have believed. Before you died, I would never have dreamed you would be on my mind so often. I thought about it. And I suspect remembering you is my way of holding on to the way I think things should be and not the way they are in this twenty-first century.

What prompted remembrance of you was me cutting the grass. By the way, Dad, you’d never believe the front yard I have to mow these days. To say it’s the side of a hill is an understatement. Gracious, there’s one place where I have to strain to keep the mower from turning over. Remember how you used to smile at the sound I’d make whenever I’d strain. Whew! You’d be laughing out loud to hear me as I mow the side of my cliff.

Anyway, there I was going back and forth, holding that push mower onto that slope with all my might, making sure I overlapped the path of the previous cut the way you taught me so very long ago, and I started wondering why I was doing it. There were dark clouds in the sky; I could smell rain off in the distance. The grass was thick. I was using one of those clips catcher and had to empty it often. I thought about just packing it in and finishing it Monday.

I couldn’t do that. Remember,  you insisted I mow the lawn every Saturday, and if I thought it might rain on Saturday to cut it on Friday? Remember how the purpose of cutting grass on Saturday was to get the yard looking good for all those people who went for an automobile ride on Sunday. It was important that those who passed our house saw we were responsible and neat people. Of course, I was not alone; you used to pile me and my brother in the car every Sunday afternoon so we could go inspect the lawn mowing of other kids.

Dad, it’s probably a good thing you didn’t live long enough to see what’s happened in the days of my maturity. People just don’t go riding in their cars on Sunday afternoon anymore. I know they don’t. After I got to thinking of you, as I pushed that mower back and forth across the yard, I decided to test it. I sat on my front porch on Sunday, Dad. Only two cars passed the house that did not belong to neighbors. Neither of them slowed down to marvel at my lawn mowing abilities.

It begs the question, Dad, of why, then, if no one is taking a Sunday automobile ride about the neighborhoods, I have this compulsion to get the grass cut before Sunday? I pondered over it and realized it’s my way of holding on to what made life organized and purposeful. It’s my way of holding on the the meaning you gave my life.

My world, Dad, is in a bit of chaos. Things are changing fast. Most of the changes are for the better, to be sure. Remember Dick Tracy’s watch? I’m writing this on something similar to that. The changes, no matter how good, are pushing me far away from your world. I don’t like that. So I cut the grass in case anyone who remembers their dad drives by on Sunday.