On a Sunday like today when the blue sky is lit by a gentle sun. When I'm outside with my shirt off mowing the lawn while my chickens and ducks follow behind burying their beaks and bills into the clippings. I think back to when I was a teenager in California. Full with rage and envy that my stepfather would make me stay home every weekend to mow and trim and sweep and anything else he could think of to keep me exhausted, safe at home and out of trouble.
I think about how I'd sneak inside through the back door every hour or so just to feel the air conditioning and grab some water. Lingering by the kitchen faucet quietly, trying to seem occupied while secretly watching as he sat, slumped in his 60's in that black leather chair. Meticulously cleaning each of his 14 pipes while straining to hear the Padres play on a beaten television across our family room.
And maybe because I'm older now with my own home or maybe because I slept in today with the windows open. Or maybe just because I had a nice quiet dinner last night in my garden... whatever reason; I find myself wishing I still knew that old man.
I wouldn't mind finishing up out here in the yard then joining him inside just to hear him mutter curses into his scotch as another pipe gets pulled apart and I stand in the kitchen, sharing the last couple innings.
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