Roanoke Times
Copyright (c) 1995, Landmark Communications, Inc.
DATE: THURSDAY, March 22, 1990 TAG: 9003212082
SECTION: EXTRA PAGE: E-1 EDITION: METRO
SOURCE: Ben Beagle
DATELINE: LENGTH: Medium
I was recently told this, and as a person of flawless honesty and devotion to the order of things, I followed the doctor's orders.
Put another way, this means that I worked this for all it was worth and immediately took advantage of everybody I could.
Thus, on a recent morning, I looked out and saw that the lawn was growing in huge clumps of miserable-looking grass.
I looked out, that is, through one eye, the other one having been recently operated on.
I knew what to do. I picked up the phone. I called my son.
"I'm sorry to bother you, boy," I said in a wavering voice, "but as you know I am under orders not to exert myself, and I have noticed that the grass is growing in miserable-looking clumps. I don't know what the neighbors are saying.
"Of course, I could mow it myself and risk doing permanent damage to my left eyeball, which would not hurt much because my race on this weary, unbright cinder is almost done. Plus the fact that ever at my back I hear time's winged footsteps drawing near.
"Perhaps, indeed, it would be better for those of us who are now aging after years spent in honest toil, while attempting to see that our children got all of the advantages, to step aside and make way for those of your generation."
A couple of hours later, I had my lawn mowed and all it cost me was a big cup of Gatorade.
The weather turned a trifle chilly right after that, and the woodbox was empty.
"Never mind, my pet," I said to the boy's mother, "I will get the wood in as I always have, regardless of infirmity.
"You should not be concerned that I will ruin myself. Be not afraid, for man that is born of woman has but a short time to live. He comes up like a flower and is cut down.
"My eyesight is not so good, however, and you will have to show me the way to the woodpile and back."
I got a loaded woodbox while I just sat there putting drops in my eye.
I waste a lot of drops because I am not very good at hitting my eye and the stuff drools down my cheek.
But there is no way to get somebody else to do this. I know. I have tried.
You should see me with drops cascading down my cheeks. Talk about pitiable. Break your heart, that's what.
The other day, the boy's mother watched me looking pitiable and missing my eye with the drops.
"Not on your life, buster - short though it may be," she said.
by CNB