79-09-B1
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A Green Lawn[edit]
Transcript[edit]This commentary had its origin in the newsletter of a nursery school in Sacramento, California a little over a month ago. I'll be right back. Today, I won't mention inflation, bureaucracy, SALT II or any of the other things in the headlines these days. Instead, now that Mother's Day and Father's Day are behind us, I'd like to read you a newsletter authored by a lady named Erma Bombeck. Maybe it will awaken a nostalgic memory or two. The author called it, Yard of Life. Quote: When Mike was three, he wanted a sandbox and his father said, "There goes the yard. We'll have kids over here every day and night and they'll throw sand into the flower beds and cats will make a mess in it and it'll kill the grass for sure." and Mike's mother said, "It'll come back." When Mike was five, he wanted a jungle gym set with swings that would take his breath away and bars to take him to the summit and his father said, "Good grief, I've seen those things in backyards and do you know what they look like? Mud holes in a pasture. Kids digging their gym shoes in the ground. It'll kill the grass." and Mike's mother said, "It'll come back." Between breaths when daddy was blowing up the plastic swimming pool he warned, "You know what they're going to do to this place? They're going to condemn it and use it for a missile site. I hope you know what you're doing. They'll track water everywhere and you'll have a million water fights and you won't be able to take out the garbage without stepping in mud up to your neck and when we take this down we'll have the only brown lawn on the block." "It'll come back." smiled Mike's mother. For a campout as they hoisted the tents and drove in the spikes his father stood at the window and observed. "Why don't I just put the grass seed out in cereal bowls for the birds and save myself the trouble of spreading it around. You know for a fact that those tents and all those big feet are going to trample down every single blade of grass. Don't you... don't bother to answer," he said, "I know what you're going to say. 'It'll come back.'" The basketball hoop on the side of the garage attracted more crowds than the Winter Olympics and a small patch along that started out with a barren spot the size of a garbage can lid soon grew to encompass the entire side yard. Just when it looked like the new seed might take root, the winter came and the sled runners beat it into ridges and Mike's father shook his head and said, "I never asked for much in this life only a patch of grass." and his wife smiled and said, "It'll come back." The lawn this fall was beautiful. It was green and alive and rolled out like a sponge carpet along the drive where gym shoes had trod, along the garage where bicycles used to fall and around the flower beds where little boys used to dig with ice teaspoons. But Mike's father never saw it he anxiously looked beyond the yard and asked with a catch in his voice, "He will come back, won't he?" This is Ronald Reagan. Thanks for listening.
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