I used to know how to mow the lawn.

It all started when I was ten when my folks decided it was time for me to have some more responsibility around the house.  And so my circle of responsibility expanded to the circumference of our yard.

It didn’t matter that the grass tickled my kneecaps when I walked through it that summer after our two-week vacation to the top of the “glove” (the northern part of Michigan before crossing the bridge).

I was tagged to mow the jungle.

And I learned to pace myself.  Two strips.  Rest.  Two strips.  Rest.

After all, the push-mover handle was higher than my head.  And if I pushed too hard, the back tires of the mower would lift up …

Then came our first riding lawn mower.  I was twelve.  The riding lawn mower was twenty six.  My Dad bought it for $100 from our minister.  I bet the minister giggled the whole way to home.

That mower was the size of the go-cart that I never built but always dreamed I would.  It was the kind that would pop a wheelie when you would hit the gas.  Really.  Now, I had a mower where the front wheels lifted up on their own rather than the back wheels lifting up from exertion.

For a twelve-year old, a riding mower from the sixties that did wheelies, did amazing things for my neighborhood “cool” rating.

I’m pretty sure my nine-year old neighbor behind me secretly wanted to cut my lawn.  But he was already stylin’ in his brand new monster mower his Dad got at Sears.  The kind with the huge flume along the side that sucked the grass into the amazing grass holding tank in the back.  I think it had eight speeds.

But mine could do wheelies.  And all through Junior High and High School, I faithfully cranked out the yard like Evel Knievel doing something productive.

Twenty years and several yards later it was time for me to invest in my own riding mower.

And I decided I would support the local Mom & Pop Riding Lawn Mowers Association.  Sorry Sears.  Sorry Lowes.  I wanted to go where someone would know my name.  I wanted to go to the Cheers Version of lawn care equipment providers.

After introducing myself as a recovering riding lawn mower wheelie popper, the owner told me he “had just the right mower” for me.

After taking out a second mortgage, I had found my new mower.  I thought it had a peculiar name.  I thought it had an unusual color.  But I thought a no-name mower should get the job  done as good as any.

Later that afternoon, the knock-off mower with the weird name and odd color was delivered to the house to great fan-fare in the neighborhood.  Well, I was excited anyway.

After the inaugural ceremonies, which included the Pouring of the Gas and Dripping of the Oil, I was off for the main event, the Scalping of the Yard, using a deck setting that was apparently too low.  I’m still not sure what a “PTO Setting” is…

I’m still trying to figure out how to do wheelies …

At least the dude at the store knows my name now …