It comes from a poem my parents had when I was younger. I've searched and searched, but I can't find it anywhere. So I felt led to give my own re-interpretation of the classic that formed so much of my understanding of being a boy and, now, being a parent.
Dad was proud. He'd worked so hard to get his yard just the way
he wanted it -- to be the envy of the neighborhood. It was lush and
green. With a few young toddlers, he wanted to groom a yard that would be
perfect to play in. Mission accomplished. It. Was.
Perfect. Years of sweat, seeding, watering, and mowing this way and that
to get it to stand up just right. Now, it looked like Augusta National was
in his back yard. Mom, comes over and says, "It really is
beautiful."
Of course, the yard made a great baseball field for the neighborhood
boys. Pretty soon dad looked out the window with pride as his now young
boys rounded the bases with friends. It was just as he'd imagined.
His back yard was the hub of the neighborhood. One night, the boys forgot
to pick up the bases and left some brown spots where they'd stayed the entire
next day. Dad was a little upset. Mom assured him, "Don't worry,
it'll grow back."
It did over the weeks, but as the games became an almost nightly
occurrence, Dad noticed that what had become the de facto pitchers mound and
batting box was becoming worn. He went out to inspect it one day and
encouraged the boys to rotate the field from time to time. Mom soothed him
at dinner, "Honey, it'll grow back."
Of course, by the end of that first summer, there was very little grass
in those same two spots, and the bases had been left out more than a couple of
times. His own little Augusta National was now littered with brown spots
and dirt spots. Mom chimed in, "Oh, next year, in the spring, it'll grow
back."
It sort of did, but by the time the weather turned warm the boys were
back out there playing and winning imaginary World Series. It got worse
that second summer. Though a little doubtful, Mom spoke words of
encouragement, "I'm sure it'll grow back." By the time they were in high
school, his once glorious back yard had become more like a pasture. They
didn't even need the bases anymore because they were permanent dirt spots.
There was the burnt spot from the campfire. There were dead lines from the
paint they'd used for the Thanksgiving Turkey Bowl game. It was once a
source of pride. Now it was the worst looking yard in the
neighborhood. Part of it made Dad angry because he'd worked so hard and
they'd just ruined. Mom kept saying it, but it never seemed happen --
"It'll grow back" just didn't materialize.
The boys finally went off to college. That spring Dad worked
extra hard on the lawn and that summer it got a little better. There still
wasn't any grass on the old pitching mound, but the burnt spot and lines were
gone. A few years passed and each spring and summer the yard looked better
and better. Finally, Augusta National was back. He was once again
the envy of the neighborhood. But, there were no more touch football
games, campfires, or imaginary World Series anymore. There was no more
laughter from children, boys barging in for a drink of water, or arguments over
strikes and balls. It was just mom and dad. Sitting on the back
porch, admiring his beautiful yard and with a tear in his eye, Dad looks to Mom
and says, "You know, I'd take back the brown spots for a little more laughter
and a few more ballgames back here." Mom replied, "I told you it would
grow back."
If you are a parent with young children, this season of life lasts only for so long. It is filled with messy houses, lots of broken stuff, crayons on walls, and dirt spots in luscious green yards. But it'll grow back. It won't last forever. Instead of fretting over the things that aren't right because of this stage of life, learn to appreciate for what it is. Know that it always grows back because they always grow up. You'll get the yard back. But you'll never get these years back. That's why my wife and I shrug most stuff off and say, "It'll grow back."
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