good grass.

When I was little, my sister and I weren’t allowed to play on Dad’s good grass.

My parents have a large yard that was a treasure trove as a child—we had a sandbox, tree house, trampoline, swing set, volleyball net, and lived on a cul-de-sac. It was the house that all our friends came to play at.

We marched around with buckets making nature soup from twigs, crushed flowers, grass, and water. We whispered secrets on the swings. We jumped in circles on the trampoline pretending to be astronauts on the moon. We ran around, squealing, playing tag.

Most of the yard was our playground. But we knew to avoid his one section of good grass.

It was an area right off the back door’s patio, where my parents’ hot tub was located. The grass was always lush, perfectly manicured, and green as could be. Dad loved that expanse of grass that was about the size of a tennis court. I never really knew why, but I figure now that it has something to do with wanting some sense of normalcy and control in a life where he was suddenly a parent and in a house with two young girls.

We joked about it and thought it was just a quirky Dad thing. It didn’t really make a difference in our ability to play, after all.

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I was back at my childhood home for my nephew’s second birthday at the end of August. My sister, her husband, and Mom and Dad spent the morning twirling around the house getting everything ready—putting up monster truck-themed decorations, filling coolers with drinks, putting pans in the oven, smoking brisket, chopping veggies, blowing up balloons, and dragging yard toys out of the garage.

My niece and nephew played with me and Adam while they worked around us, preparing for the thirty-ish people that were coming to celebrate.

I didn’t think much of it at the time, but my niece’s favorite outdoor toy, a ten-foot long rollercoaster thing (image for reference) that she rides down in a yellow cart was placed smack-dab in the middle of Dad’s good grass.

Later the day as aunts, uncles, cousins, and friends lounged around the deck and patio, my niece grabbed her peddle-less bike and started zooming around Dad’s good grass. After, she started riding her mini rollercoaster, the yellow cart traveling far beyond the plastic as she rolled off on the grass.

I guess that’s allowed now, I thought to myself.

Later that night, once everyone had left, I stood watching as my niece and nephew played on the plastic coaster. There were crease marks zigzagging all around the grass.

“Look how far I’ve come,” Dad said as he walked up behind me. “Letting them play on the good grass.”

“I know! I’m impressed,” I say, the reality of the situation occurring to me. “No fair!” I joke.

He laughs. “What can I say, I’ve really grown.” We stare at the shrieking kids for a bit before he adds, “Your posts have really helped.”

I know he’s talking about my stories on my Substack and it makes pressure start building behind my eyes, forever touched knowing that him and Mom read along with what I write each week.

“What do you mean?”

“I dunno, they’ve helped me live in the moment. To appreciate each day more, I guess.”

My heart explodes. “I can’t even express how much that means.”

“I think it’s hard to appreciate it when you’re in it.” Parenthood, I’m assuming he means. “When you and your sister were growing up, I was too deep in it to really appreciate you guys just being little. It’s easier with grandkids.”

Even though I can’t fully know what he means, I know what it’s like to look back at a moment or season of your life and realize that you took it granted, that you rushed it along, that you didn’t fully appreciate it while it was happening.

it’s hard to savor moments when you’re deep in them.

then they’re gone, and you don’t always get them back.

Here was my dad, getting his moment back in some form. Not with me and my sister, but with his grandkids.

And instead of stressing about his good grass being stomped on and crushed, he was just appreciating the children that were growing up before his eyes—kids that before we all know it will be off living their lives far away from his recovering grass.

Life is short, and grass eventually grows back.

xx

Court.

Monkey-ing around on the "bad grass."