The Green, Green Grass of Home
by Erma Bombeck
When Brad was 2, he wanted a sandbox, and his
father said: "There goes the yard. We'll have kids over
here 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 Brad's mother said, "It'll come back."
When Brad was 5, 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 back yards, 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 Brad'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 have a million water fights, and you
won't be able to take out the garbage without stepping
in mud up to your neck. When we take this down, we'll
have the only brown lawn on the block."
"It'll come back," Brad's mother said.
When Brad was 12, he volunteered his yard 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. 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 Olympics. And a small patch of
lawn that started out with a barren spot the size of a
garbage can lid soon drew to encompass the entire side
yard.
And his wife smiled and said, "It'll come back."
Then just when it looked as if the new seed might take
root, the winter came and the sled runners beat it into
ridges. Brad'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 iced-tea spoons.
But Brad'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?"
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