The Lawn

When we moved to the suburbs and our house with a lawn, my Dad was going to become a lawn grower.  The fellow across the street had a beautiful lawn, no weeds, all grass, no brown, all green.  Post card stuff.  My Dad worked on our lawn year after year, but it grew weeds and brown spots before mid-summer.  The backyard was a beautiful green lawn, but no one saw that but us kids and our friends.  My Dad wanted the lawn in front to look good.  When I moved away twelve years later, he had not yet given up, but he had not yet gotten a green grass lawn.  Years later, after my parents had retired, I made one of my summer visits.  Dad had a green grass lawn.  Patience my friend, patience.