The Green, Green Grass of Home

by Erma Bombeck

    When Mike was 2, he wanted a sandbox, and his father said:
    "There goes the yard. We'll have kids over here day and
    night, and they'll throw sand into the flower beds, and cats
    will make a mess in it, and it'll kill the grass for sure."

    And Mike's mother said, "It'll come back."

    When Mike was 5, he wanted a jungle gym set with swings that
    would take his breath away and bars to take him to the summit,
    and his father said: "Good grief, I've seen those things in
    back yards, and do you know what they look like? Mud holes in
    a pasture. Kids digging their gym shoes in the ground. It'll
    kill the grass."

    And Mike's mother said, "It'll come back."

    Between breaths, when Daddy was blowing up the plastic swimming
    pool, he warned: "You know what they're going to do to this
    place? They're going to condemn it and use it for a missile site.
    I hope you know what you're doing. They'll track water everywhere
    and have a million water fights, and you won't be able to take
    out the garbage without stepping in mud up to your neck. When we
    take this down, we'll have the only brown lawn on the block."
 
     "It'll come back," Mike's mother said.

    When Mike was 12, he volunteered his yard for a campout. As they
    hoisted the tents and drove in the spikes, his father stood at the
    window and observed, "Why don't I just put the grass seed out in
    cereal bowls for the birds and save myself the trouble of spreading
    it around? You know for a fact that those tents and all those big
    feet are going to trample down every single blade of grass, don't
    you. Don't bother to answer. I know what you're going to say.
    'It'll come back.'"

    The basketball hoop on the side of the garage attracted more crowds
    than the Olympics. And a small patch of lawn that started out with
    a barren spot the size of a garbage can lid soon drew to encompass
    the entire side yard.

    Just when it looked as if the new seed might take root, the winter
    came and the sled runners beat it into ridges. Mike's father shook
    his head and said, "I never asked for much in this life  - only a
    patch of grass."
 
    And his wife smiled and said, "It'll come back."

    The lawn this fall was beautiful. It was green and alive and
    rolled out like a sponge carpet along the drive where gym shoes had
    trod ... along the garage where bicycles used to fall ... and
    around the flower beds where little boys used to dig with
    iced-tea spoons.
 
    But Mike's father never saw it. He anxiously looked beyond the
    yard and asked with a catch in his voice, "he will come back,
    won't he?"

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