My oldest mowed the back lawn for the first time ever the other day. We have a surprisingly heavy lawn mower, so it was no small task. He tackled it with determination, though, leaning into the mower and pushing with his whole body.

That night, as we were visiting with Nana and Grampa, we shared his victory with him.

“You know that picture of the backyard?” Nana said. She was referring to a photo she has of the view out of the back window of the house I grew up in. Our yard was much, much bigger, probably ten times the size of the yard I have now, and the perspective of the photo makes it look even bigger.

“Your dad used to mow all of that.”

“Wow.” My oldest gave me one of those rare looks of respect that 11 year-olds reserve for only the most impressive of achievements.

“Well,” I said. “I had a riding lawn mower.”

“What!?!” He burst out laughing. “Da-ad!”

Nana shook her head in dismay.

Yeah. I probably shouldn’t have added that little detail. In fact, now that I’m remembering more clearly, I think it might have been snowing as I mowed that lawn…