January 6, 2000 --- 5:15 PM EST

Argh! It's almost sunset! Play time. I don't think it will happen today because there are so many other things I have to be doing. Dammit. But no play till the chores get done ugh. The lawn is awful, the laundry needs doing, have to get the yellow bathroom cleaned up and I still haven't put away all the groceries right. And the turtles need attention because their quarters need cleaning. You know, when Paul is out of town I really get bogged down with the house stuff. YAAAARRRGGGH!

Well, maybe yoga at night then.

I have these awful, scary, atomic pink, gardening gloves. The palms are green but the tops are these wild, garish pink flowers. So ugly they were cool so I got those for weeding and apartment pot gardening years ago although I prefer my men's canvas gloves for harder yard stuff now that we have more gardening to be doing than just caring for the houseplants. We actually have a yard!

I was looking at the lawn this afternoon and it is getting away from us. The only saving grace is it's winter and the grass hasn't grown much but the weeds! Argh! They are overtaking everything! So decided to weed a little bit before I got to the real chores.

I was looking at the lawnmower thinking maybe I ought to just go ahead and mow the lawn as well? This appeals to me for the same reason it appeals to Paul -- power! The roar of the machine and the chomping away at the lawn. Vrooom! But I leave the yard to him because he likes it so much and I like other exercise. He'd never get as much exercise otherwise if I overtook the mowing. But he's not here, it needs doing so I am left staring at the lawnmower.

I have no idea how to get it to go. I primed it, I yanked it a million times till my arm felt like dropping and I can't get it to GO. Is there some lawnmower secret? Why didn't my father tell it to me when I was growing up?

This led to thinking about my father and lawns and how insane he is about the lawn and the houseplants and painting the house and making everything tidy.

When I was a little girl I was fascinated by my father mowing the lawn every Saturday. He kept the lawns super tidy. That's his thing right there -- gardening. He loves it. Lives for it. Growls like a bear if you dast move a rock. Glares at weeds until they shake in fear and wither right there on the spot. Yells at the kids in the street for playing ball in front of his house and trampling all over his front lawn. Trims around the stepping stones delicately with a pair of scissors. Well-manicured lawns take on a whole other meaning with my father!

"White is a very impractical color for a house." my mother would plead. "Why can't we paint it some other color? The dirt shows up! "

No! He wanted a white house, and he was going to have a white house, and no dang kids where going to keep him from having an immaculate white house with a pretty front lawn just because they keep playing ball in the street and kicking it on the wall and making ball spots and trampling down the grass.

My Dad was the Mr. Wilson of our neighborhood. It was war between him and the boys of the neighborhood. He'd stalk them. If a ball came into our front lawn it was confiscated. He would sit in his lawn chair smack in the middle of the front lawn after dinner and just sit there waiting for a ball to roll on in.

He never surrendered a ball unless the boy's parents came to get it. Needless to say the boys lied to their parents and told them the ball had been lost rather than to tell them it was being held hostage my Dad. We never saw parents after one parent came to get his kid's ball. He got the ball back with a fly in his ear. My Dad even had the parents terrorized!

We did see a lot of boys jumping our fence to try to rescue their balls before my dad locked them up in the storage room. They tried, but never rescued one back. He was too fast. And way too scary.

Once it was about 10 PM and we were all in bed when there was this loud CLONG! CLONG! CLONG! A ball bouncing across our roof and then a dull thud as it landed in our side lawn. My father leapt out of bed and screamed "Those damn boys!" while my mother said "Language!" and he slammed out of the master bedroom and ran through the house.

I got up too and ran to my window that opened on the side lawn and I could hear the boys in frantic whisper conference by our fence.

"You jump the fence!"

"No, you!"

"I did it last time. No way, am I going! You go."

"You kicked it, you go."

"No way!"

"You kicked my ball over there. YOU have to get it or I will paste you one."

"I don't care if you paste me one. I'm not going there. I'd rather get beat up! You go if you want it so bad. It's your ball!"

"Ohmygod, I can hear him coming!"

My father was roaring and slammed the kitchen door to the car port and could be heard running through the carport to the storage room. "Booooys! Booooys! A ball! A ball in my LAWWWWWWNNN!!!!'

THWOOOK! I peeked out the window and there was this big boy (to me anyway, I was only in elementary school, all non-elementary school boys looked very big to me) scrambling to get the ball in the dark.

His friends were peeking over the top of our fence.

"Hurry! Hurry! Raph! Come on! He's coming!" Raphael, Danny, Julio. I still remember their names. There was a bunch more from the other block but those were the ones who lived on our street and got nailed the most.

"I'm going to catch a BOOOOOY!" my father screamed from inside the storage room. "Where is it? Where is it? Booooooys!"

"Oh no! BigBoy stop! You will scare them!" my mother wailed form her back window at him. We heard my father slamming about as he came out of the storage room.

I heard her running across the their bedroom room to the side yard window in her room. "BigBoy (my father's nickname since childhood) let it go! It's just a ball! It's late! Come back to bed! Don't get excited! Don't hurt them! They are just kids! Don't get excited! Don't get excited!"

"Mommy!" Karen yelled from her room, the middle room. "It's Daddy! Daddy is getting excited!!"

She was doing the same thing I was doing, the same thing my mother was doing. Faces plastered to each of our side bedroom windows peeking out into the side yard where the blue and white soccer ball gleamed in the moonlight against the dark grass.

I screamed. "Karen! Karen! Can you see him yet? What is he getting? What did he get?"

Meanwhile the boys are screaming at Raphael. "Get the ball! Get the ball! He's coming and he is bringing something! Hurry! Get it! To the left! You kicked it! Dummy! Just get it!

I kind of felt sorry for Raphael. He was so scared he couldn't catch the ball because he kept kicking it away from himself and it was bouncing all around as he fumbled in the dark.

I was terribly excited. What would it be? The garden hose? Would he hose them all down? The metal rake to drag against the cyclone fence to make a really loud scary noise as he ran down to catch the boy and try to swat him with it? What!? Was it the lawnmower? Would he try to mow the boy down? What did he get out of the storage room?

I was jumping up and down. Shit, we were all jumping up and down. It wasn't just Daddy getting all excited. EVERYBODY was getting all excited. Dogs were barking. Lights were coming on in other houses on our street because of the racket.

My father was running heavily and I could hear him like a stampede of wild horses coming around the house. Out of the storage room, he must be past the porch swing now, past the birdbath, I can hear him coming around the corner... I hear this slick sounding, metal schwiiiiing! Oh my GOD! I knew that sound. Did he REALLY?

My mother saw him right away since her side window came first and she hollered, "Nooooooooo! BigBoy! Noooooooooooo!"

My sister saw him next and she just shouted. "DADDDDDYYYYYYYY!" as he ran past her window.

I caught sight of it at the same time as the boys because I was in the he last bedroom. I screamed at the same time as the fence boys screamed. "AAAAAAHHHHH!" Karen and my mom came running down the hallway and crowded my side window to see what would happen next.

Here came my father. Hair all on end without his glasses wearing nothing but his Fruit of the Loom saggy underwear charging around the corner into the side yard brandishing his green handled machete!

The big, long, blade he used as a hatchet when he whacked down tree limbs and things. The one we were never supposed to even look at much less want to touch because it was so sharp and dangerous. He was going to murder him! Oh no! No wonder mom was screaming at him to calm down and not get excited! Wow! I was going to get to watch my Dad murder somebody. Would he go to jail? Karen and I jumped up and down and screamed out the window.

He roared as he ran. "A ball! A ball! A ball on my roof falling into my LAAAAAAWWWWWWN!"

The boys screamed in terror and the fence was shaking as they all scampered away.

"Run! He's got a a machete! Ruuuuun!"

"He's crazy! Ruuuuun!"

"You bastards! Leaving me here! Aaaaaaaarrrrggggh!" screamed the boy in our side lawn.

My Dad stopped running and slowed to a walk and just stopped before his prey. He faced the boy left in the lawn with this wicked gleam in his eyes. The ball was between them. The boy's friends had deserted him. He was alone.

My mother covered her eyes. "Ohhhhhh, that poor boy!" She sat down on my bed unable to watch anymore. This convinced me and my sister that Daddy really was going to kill that boy right there on eh lawn! So my sister and I fought to hog the window to get to watch the standoff and not miss a thing.

Silence.

The boy quivered in fear. I'd quiver in fear too if if a near naked crazy man was standing in front of me holding a machete about to kill me. My father stood there, taking his time. The boy was breathing ragged and heavy and I started to wonder if he'd wet his pants yet?

Then Dad suddenly hissed "Boooooooyyyyyyy! Boooooy who's come to get his ball in MY LAWN!!" He slammed the blade of the machete into the tree when he screamed "My lawn" The boy was up and over the fence and gone in a blink of an eye. I never saw him leave. It was like *poof!*

My father picked up the ball, chuckled and tucked it up under his arm and stalked over to the fence and stood on the rocks there and started hollering.

"I know you boys are out there and I know you can hear me and see me even though you are hiding in the bushes! Play in front of your OWN houses! Do you see this machete!?" He shook it in the air. "I am going to take this machete and WHACK this ball in half! I've got ALL your balls! ALL OF THEM! NO BOOOOYS MESSING UP MY LAWWWWWWWNNNN!"

And then he disappeared into the backyard and there was this loud thhhhhhwwwwuuuuck! sound. Then he slammed the storage room door when he put the machete away and locked it up and then he slammed the kitchen door as he came back in and then he rinsed dirt from his feet in the bathroom and went back to bed. Mom made us go back to bed and then she stomped into their bedroom.

My mother started yelling at him. "Are you crazy? What are you doing running around in your underwear? Do you know how ridiculous this all is? You are impossible! It's all so silly!"

My father?

He just laid in bed laughing and laughing and laughing really loud! I could hear him from my room and it was echoing around outside in the neighborhood. This weird "Hooo Hooo Haaaa haaa Heeee Hoooo Haaaaaaaaaaaaa!"

I lay in bed listening to the neighbors screaming at their kids after they trudged miserably home. The racket in my neighborhood took hours to finally die down. I could hear slaps and crying and yellgin and all kinds of noise. The dogs were barking and everything. Pandemonium.

Hours later I heard this scratching at my window that wakes me up and I went to go see and it was Danny, the boy who lived next door. "Cathy! Can you get us the ball back?"

"Are you crazy?!"

"Cathy, pleeeeease! That's Raph's last ball. His parents said he can't have anymore because he keeps losing them in your Dad's yard and now he is grounded for a month. "

"Nuh-uh! No way. He will kill me!"

"Did he really whack it in half?"

" He whacked something up back there. You heard him. The ball is gone."

Then from the darkness came the voice of doom. "GO TO BED!" and the boy ran away and I leaped into bed again and pulled the covers over my head.

The only ball my parents bought us was a volleyball. No other. We had a lot of them in the storage room to play with if we wanted to. Basketballs, tennis balls, soccer balls, footballs. Sometimes we'd feel sorry for the boys and sneak them back their balls if there happened to be a big mess of them there. My Dad wouldn't notice one or two missing because there were so many. Ten tennis balls in a bucket looks about the same as twelve, right?

We didn't dare do that if there was only a few balls though. He's spot them missing and then know we'd given them back and we weren't supposed to do that. But Dad let us play with a few while the collection was growing. When the collection grew big he'd take them up in a big garbage bag and then go donate them to the orphanage.

The next day I peeked in the storage room to see if I would find a blue and white soccer ball chopped in half. It wasn't there. Some other balls but not the soccer ball I'd seen in the moonlight. I looked in the yard to see if there were any ball bits left. I snooped all around the house looking for it and I finally found it in my father's closet. He hadn't whacked it in half.

But then what did he whack in half that night? I heard it! He whacked something up! I never found out. Somewhere in the back of my head I wondered if there was a headless boy running around somewhere in my neighborhood.

It wasn't that my father didn't like kids. He did. He just hated anybody doing things to his lawn and the boys tramped up the front lawn going after their balls. And our side fence started to sag from them jumping over all the time trying to get their balls back!

Once a boy came ringing out doorbell.

"My father answered the door ready to listen to boys beg for their balls back so he could scream "NO!" and terrorize them some more. They boy must have been new and didn't realize whose house this was. He didn't want any balls. He wanted a plastic trash bag because he didn't have any at his house.

"What do you want a plastic bag for?" my father asked suspiciously.

"I am trying to make a kite."

My father looked at his glue and his dowels and told the boy to sit.

We were watching all this from the dinner table. He went to go get a plastic bag and he sat there on the front stoop with this stranger boy and helped him make his kite explaining the inner workings of kite-ness.

"You dinner is getting cold!" my mother yelled. "Let the boy make his own kite!"

"Aaaaaah!" my father grunted and waved his hand at her not even looking up. He made that boy a kite and then stood him up and said, "You are new. I am Mr. Rigby. I don't ever want to see you playing ball in front of my house because I know you boys. You run all over the lawns with your balls! Now go fly your kite and use the sidewalk when you leave. STAY OFF MY LAAAAWWWWWN!" And then my father slammed the door in the boy's face. We never saw that boy again.

Dad sat down to eat his cold dinner and we stared at him.

"I don't see why you have to be so dramatic! It's insane! All the neighbors think you are crazy. All the kids think you are crazy. You know what? I think you are crazy!" my mother berated.

"Emily, don't get excited. When you get excited you lose all control." Then started to laugh that crazy laugh. The special boy-laugh. We stared at him and tried to hold in our nervous giggles. It was all scary and crazy.

My father was obsessed with his lawn. His lawn, the neighbors lawns his mother's lawn, any lawn. But especially his lawn. Untidy lawns made him crazy, pretty lawns made him jealous. "Why doesn't that man mow his lawn!? It's annoying me. I feel like going over there and mowing it myself!" or "Ooooooooh! Look at that lawn! So greeeeeen! I wonder what they are doing to it?"

But his own lawn? That was his thing. His pride and joy. His big baby. He would defend his lawn to radical extremes, the dedicated Saturday mower and daily lawn inspector and waterer.

No pests. Not bugs. No stray cats. No dead plants allowed. No fallen leaves. Nothing coming out in between the cracks of the sidewalk. Nope! Not allowed! Especially boys. No damn boys on the lawn!

~Astrophe

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