As I know you recall from last year, Jethro started cutting the lawn. It was a pretty big deal in the Fadderly household. I’m on my way to financial chore freedom. Why else have 50 million kids? To propagate the species? Hell, no! To help with the work load!
I wouldn’t let him trim the lawn last year, however. We’ve got a gas weed whacker. And I just didn’t think he was old enough to handle such a man maiming machine.
Whelp… the big day finally came, over the weekend. Jethro got the call up to the big leagues. I finally showed him how to use the gas-powered stick of random carnage. You know…now that I consider it, since our culture doesn’t have one, maybe we should consider weed whacking a rite of passage. Other cultures throughout history have had some sort of test/moment for boys to know they’ve entered manhood. Perhaps successfully handling of a 25cc, 170 mph, weed killing, stone tossing pain on a stick device should be our culture rite of manhood.
In any case, here’s Jethro’s thoughts on the experience:
“It’s heavy. It’s kinda hurting my arms.”
“It’s like Call of Duty. But, I gotta hold the trigger tighter.”
“For my first time doing it, I think I’m doing a pretty good job.”
As long as you’re not hurting yourself, or anyone else, you’re doing a fine job to me, son.
Now I just gotta train the dog to get me a beer.
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