There was time once, when while maybe I was never the embodiment of "cool" or "hip" or "happenin", at least I could for brief moments pass as one of that crowd. But these days, oh, I slip inch by inch into a domesticated, hombodish persona that would have been cannon fodder for my own tongue's mockery.
Yesterday is a great example. We went to an early church service and then I rushed home with incredible urgency. Why? Because I found out Home Depot was open on Easter and I could get yard work done. I then proceeded to work as if my life depended on it for some six hours, even making another Depot run after I completed my orginal goals.
But that's not the weirdest part either. I loved every minute of it. I worked almost what would be a full workday and yet the time flew by like a lunch hour does.
I always thought that when the day came that I was someone's Dad that I would be the sort of Dad that the kids are astounded by how different I was than the other ones, so much cooler, so much in touch with what's hip.
But alas, with no kids even in the making yet, I already seem to falling right into line. I'll be out in the yard in the morning, with my wife beater t-shirt, ugly bermuda shorts, black socks and some of houseshoe watering plants and talking to the neighbors. Is it some sort of genetic time bomb that goes off inside us?
But damn it's so rewarding to finish a project in the yard, in YOUR yard (something about the ownership I think). I grabbed a victory beer and walked around surveying what I had done. Then I imagined future projects and how I could do this or that and walked around like a moron in this dirt-induced stupor.
Is that it? Is there some narcotic in potting soil or the weed killer or the earth itself?
I don't know but I am hooked on this stuff. Good Lord. How far am I from walking around chewing tobacco, wearing a John Deere hat, soiled t-shirt with suspenders at this point? The day is coming, stand by.