More than a Sunday drive

I’m sure some of you have seen me putting around town in my pickup at half the speed of smell in the late-afternoon sunshine.
It’s much more than a lazy Sunday drive. It’s a tradition laced in deep family values that I cannot let go of.
I enjoy cutting the grass. It’s one of my favorite activities during the six-ish months we get to do that. Nothing beats the smell of a freshly-cut lawn and that bit of green on your white shoes.
Growing up back home, I took care of the yard over the years for several family members, so I used to do it a lot more than I do now. 
Back home, the yards were also much bigger than the one I have now, so entire afternoons were spent on the riding mower, with nothing better to do than making sure the lines were straight and day dreaming about being Dale Earnhardt on grass. 
Now, the aforementioned family tradition goes back before I ever cut my first lawn. My old man, usually on a Saturday back from work, would get the yard figured out while I spent time playing catch with a football by myself. 
That’s done easiest by throwing the ball up onto the roof of the house and making the snag on its way back to earth. 
Once the yard was mowed and the weeds eated with hopefully no flower casualties that would upset Mom, the old man would make the call.
To the pickup truck.
It was an early 1990s Dodge Ram D150 regular cab with the bench seat. Hand-crank windows. Hummed like a squeaking rat, but never quit. 
Usually with some lemonade, we would hop in the truck and crawl around town. Where I grew up, the town sign said something around 120 residents, so it doesn’t take long, even at a snail’s pace, to see every corner lot.
Now, what on earth could possibly necessitate this completely meaningless drive? It was the gossip column between the old man and I. 
We were driving around town, checking on who had mowed their lawns and who hadn’t. Who had that greenery cut to the short hairs and who had a lot of work to be done before the weekend closed out. 
My old man was gone for work a lot growing up, so these small, completely meaningless trips around town were the best. We would critique those who let the yard get a bit long and congratulate those who had things in ship shape. 
When I started doing more yard work at home and the old man was gone for work, I still took that trip around town and made sure to report back to him who was on the yard nice list and who was slacking.
I had no idea how much those small, meaningless trips around town meant to me until I realized I was still doing it. 
Honestly, part of me didn’t even realize I was still doing it. A completely new community, different phase of life, a pickup truck from this millennium, but the same family value. 
So, if you see me crawling around town with absolutely no hint of motivation behind the gas pedal, rest assured I just finished cutting my grass and I’m checking to see the status of your lawns, too. 
Don’t worry, though. I don’t really check in with the old man on who has or hasn’t mowed. Your secret is safe with me. 
The slow pace is just about over, however. We’re hitting a much higher gear with sports back in full swing, and I couldn’t be happier. 
Let’s play ball!
RICHARD RHODEN can be reached at sports@hamilton.net.