In his natural environment, Flik is a big fan of cutting the grass. He loves Daddy’s John Deere tractor: using it, working on it (as in oil changes or other fixes), or just sitting on it while it’s parked in the garage. Any attempts by Daddy to cut the grass without Flik’s involvement usually results in a minor meltdown. When he was two and three, nearly every stick-shaped object that entered our house was magically transformed into a weed-whacker or a leaf blower. (I am certain that this enthusiasm for lawn maintenance will evaporate right about the time that Flik is able to operate the lawn mower without parental involvement.)
In Orlando however, Flik saw things a little differently. In Chicago, we have different types of grasses than they do in the south. Southern grasses have wider blades than our northern bluegrasses and fescues. So while walking in the grass one day on our Orlando vacation, Flik paused to investigate the grass. He saw that the ends of the grass were stringy and uneven. He looked up at me with concern.
Flik: Who hurt the grass?
Mommy: What do you mean?
Flik: Look at it! It’s all… (Imagine crazy arm and body gestures here to indicate that the grass has been mangled since Flik doesn’t know the word “mangled.”)
Mommy: No one hurt the grass, Sweetie. That’s just from the lawnmower.
Flik: (aghast) I think they should not make lawnmowers or weed-whackers any more so no one can hurt the grass!Well now. That was unexpected.
