of the editorial page staff
published by the StarTribune
November 8, 1958
JIM AND MIKE are a couple of pals of mine who are worth knowing. Luckily, I'm their neighbor. Jim lives next door and Mike four houses south. I see them regularly on Saturday. They come over then to give me a hand with the chores.
To some people I'm too old to be interesting. To others I'm too stuffy and reserved. But Mike and Jim think I'm okay. I appreciate this. They lift my ego. Three-year-olds are generous that way. If they accept you at all they do so without reservations.
LAST Saturday I backed the car out of the garage to do a wash job and rotate the tires. Jim joined me in a matter of seconds, asked a few hundred questions to get himself squared away, and then grabbed the lug wrench. By the time we had one wheel off Mike had joined us.
I had a bucket of water and a brush at the scene. Both kids wanted the brush. I went inside and got a couple of rags, gave one to each, and we all started bathing the tire and wheel.
THERE WAS considerable contention for use of the garden hose, jack and white-wall tire cleaner, and neither kid hesitated to boss me around. But things went very well, with no blows or tears. I had to settle repeated disputes as to which rag belonged to which boy, and endeavored with little success to keep their shirt sleeves dry, but by lunchtime we had the job almost done and nobody was soaking wet.
Both promised to return in the afternoon. Neither did. One confessed rather shamefacedly that he'd taken a two-hour nap. Maybe the other one did, too. Or maybe his mother wished to be spared getting him into dry clothes a second time.
JIM AND MIKE are great at mowing lawns and raking leaves. Jim's folks found him a block away from home one afternoon this summer working on the lawn of someone they didn't know. But Jim knew him. He and Mike know everyone in the neighborhood.
Their mothers evidence considerable concern for the boys' free-wheeling way of getting acquainted. They are downright chummy with any adult who gives them a scrap of attention. They stand constantly ready to case your garage for shovels, ladders and carts and insist on being helpful.
AS FAR AS I'm concerned, the mothers can quit stewing. While irritability is not beyond me and I can get a lot more done alone than with the aid of a couple of moppets, I covet their company.
I've reached that plateau on which I find no particular urgency. If a job isn't finished this morning it can be done this afternoon--or next week. And if it isn't done at all it probably won't matter.
Anyhow, why all the rush? Why not have time to enjoy the fun that fate puts in your lap? The day may come when I wish to avoid children or, more to the point, when they avoid me. As long as the mutual admiration holds I'll take advantage of it.
THAT Saturday in the back yard Jim's mother remarked that my patience amazed her. Come to think of it, it amazed me some, too. I recalled that many a time, in similar circumstances when my own children were small, I was waspish and irascible, acting in a way that called for later apologies. Perhaps patience, understanding and appreciation of childhood are among the boons of middle-age.
There also must be taken into account the fact, regrettable but undeniable, that we use more courtesy and forbearance with outsiders than with members of the family.
A fragment of verse comes to mind: "But for our own, the bitter tone, though we love our own the best."
Not that much forbearance is required in my relationship with Jim and Mike. Given the chance, I'd steal either or both of them.
Copyright 2014 StarTribune. Republished here with the permission of the StarTribune. No further republication or redistribution is permitted without the express approval of the StarTribune.
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