"I am going to have a panic attack!" I pleaded with my father this morning as he cranked up a lawn mower and handed the reigns to me.
"Aw shit!" my father hollered over the loud mower. "Yard work will do you good."
Hours later: sweaty and green at my knees, we quit.
"Now don't you feel better?" dad asked, smiling, and drinking some icy cold water.
I drank my water and was in kind of a content trance. I am so out of shape and an afternoon of yard work did me good.
Most of all, it was bonding time spent with my father doing the thing he most loves to do. He's 62 and not getting any younger. I need to relish these times we share together.