A Labor Day memory for you:
I headed outside towards the front yard to rake on a sunny Labor Day. My grandson, Gavin, followed me reluctantly being instructed to help Gramma by his father. I asked him to gather up the large and small rake from the backyard while I grabbed some bags from the garage.
I started raking at the far end of the yard while Gavin chose the leaves on the driveway. My method was to swoop up leaves and needles with my rake in a circular pattern, producing a pile.
Gavin lost all interest, after two or three pulls of his mini-rake. He left his pile and started to entertain himself by tearing bark off trees. He tired of debarking and came over to watch me. It suddenly occurred to him while observing my methods, that my bigger piles must be due to a larger rake.
“Gramma, trade rakes with me, please, please!” I agreed, and began to use the smaller rake to pull needles out of corners.
“Ouch,” he yelled, as the larger rake bonked him on the head.
Gavin strolled over to the street to plunk down, looking discouraged. “I’m taking a break, Gramma.” I noticed that a total of twenty minutes had transpired. ”Why do we have to do this anyway? I’m tired. Can’t I just go play my game?”
“Well,” I replied, “you can ask your dad if you can quit.”
“No,” he exclaimed. “Dad told me that I’d never play video games again if I didn’t do my chores first.”
“Okay,” I chuckled. “It sounds like you’d better work then. Gavin, did you know that when you become a man, you will work, just like your dad does? That’s what men do. They work. And when they’re done working, then they can play,” I explained.
“Well, I don’t like to work,” he concluded.
“How about if you help me pick up the piles of leaves and put them into the bags? Look at how many we have. Can you count them?”
As he began to count, he grew excited about our (mostly my) nine piles of leaves and needles situated around the front yard.
“Wow,” he exclaimed. “That’s a lot!” He began to help me stuff the bags. The majority of the piles he brought left a new trail of scattered debris from pile to bag. Once I showed him how to stuff the corners to make the bag stand steady, he took more ownership of the project and claimed the job of stuffer, while I was his assistant bringer of leaves.
We took a break, sitting on the front stoop, observing our workmanship. A glow of pride wreathed his face as we did a high five, celebrating our accomplishment.
Gavin may not win any current world records for industry captain but his work ethic is just a tiny bit more elevated than when we started. Someday when he towers over Grandma, he may remember the day when I told him about how men work. In the meantime, we will continue to celebrate a job well done.
Dianna
Sharing the Fruit of Maturity
