Laugh Week

So, I'm sure everybody knew this was Laugh Week, right? ...chirp. ...chirp. Ok, why don't they put this awesome stuff on the calendar, anyway? Well, I'm going to celebrate it even if you don't.


In hopes of getting somebody to laugh, or at least smile during Laugh Week, I'm going to tell a true story about...


me...


and a mower.


umm... I don't hear you howling yet.


btw, if you don't think it's even slightly funny, you can get a refund. jk.




So, there I was, a scrawny little kid, probably about 11 years old, enjoying a bright, hot summer day. What could be better? At my tender age--when I was actually capable of doing careless, stupid, and pathetic things--I was not yet allowed to use the riding mower like my older brother, Isaac. Yes, that meant that I got the immense "privilege" of lugging around a hideous black beast that was a lousy excuse for a grass-cutting-machine--otherwise known as a push mower. Hmm... the name seems to imply that there is some serious work involved. It's not like I had to do the whole yard, just the spots where the riding mower couldn't get, but, still--no fun.


But these dismal and depressing realities couldn't rob me of the slight bits of happiness experienced from watching Isaac mow and daydreaming about the day when I could perch atop the coveted machine. Funny, I don't even like mowing anymore... Probably because I know that old mower still hates me. But you don't know why yet.


This particular day, Isaac was preparing to mow and I was being a pest and hanging around him as he opened up the shed door. He was just about ready to start cutting grass, when he realized that he had forgotten something and momentarily went back inside the house to take care of... whatever it was.


Now, the foolish little kid was left alone, admiring the spectacular creation filling his vision--the green John Deere.


What a perfect time for crazy little thoughts to start buzzing around inside my innocent, inexperienced noggin. Suddenly, I hit upon the perfect plan. I should help out my older brother a bit and move the mower out of the shed. All the less work for him to do, right?


Now, you're thinking I'm going to tell you that I tried to drive the mower, even though I wasn't allowed. I'll admit, that could have been funny/disastrous, but, thankfully, I had a little bit of common sense about me. Just a little...


No, I decided I would pull the mower out of the shed. How utterly sensible. I wouldn't be breaking any rules, and I'd be doing a huge favor for my unwilling pal, Isaac. He would owe me a debt of gratitude! He would finally have to acknowledge my impressive muscular strength (which likely equaled that of a guinea pig at the time). Somehow, it didn't cross my mind that all he would have to do to get the mower out in the yard would be turn the key, put in reverse, and zoom out. ...Or creep out. That mower has got to be older than me, and it's definitely slower. I mean, I would enjoy mowing today if I could do it at 50 mph!


Anyway, I had made up my mind for better or for worse, so I hopped on the mower and put her in neutral. ...Or him. Come to think of it, I think somebody named him Sampson to encourage him to climb hilly terrain better. So, ol' Sampson was now ready for action. Flex those skinny chicken arms!


When I had finally managed to move the mower completely outside the shed, I stepped back to admire my work. Oh, "the satisfaction and pride of a job well done." Or not. Something didn't look right.


"Aha! The mower is facing the wrong direction. Can't have that." Fortunately, super-strong-show-off kid was ready and willing to fix the problem.


All I would need to do would be to turn the wheel to the left, pull the mower back, turn the wheel to the right, and push it forward--several times. Now, I've never claimed to be a genius, but I like to think that I'm a fairly sensible, level-headed person. Well, I obviously wasn't very commonsensical when I was a kid. You see, behind our house, there is a slope that kind-of starts out gently and then sort-of gets steeper and then there are some woods and finally a creek at the bottom of the incline. Our shed happens to be at the very back of the house. Despite my ingenious thinking skills, I failed to realize what could very well happen if I started turning the mower around with pure manpower.


So, innocently, I yanked the wheel to the left and started pulling backwards. So far so good. Then I jerked the wheel to the right and started pushing Sampson forward. By now, the mower was pretty much facing the woods, on a slope, in neutral.


Then the inevitable happened. Since Mr. John Deere had wheels, was on an incline, and there's this thing called gravity, he started rolling forward. Slowly at first, then faster and faster. After recovering from the momentary shock of seeing the mower get a mind of its own and start moving by itself, I decide I needed to stop it... fast.


But as much force as I exerted on the mower, I was no match for gravity's pull. So, I stomped on the brake with all of my puny might, but we just kept rolling. Well, I thought it was the brake, anyway. Give me an A for effort! Turns out that I was on the left side of the mower where the clutch pedal happens to be located. The brake is on the other side!


As I vainly pumped "the brake that wasn't", my foot managed to get caught under the mowing deck, so I was now unwillingly dragged along, half-on, half-off the runaway mower. By now, we were plunging through the little bit of woods that precedes the creek. Not good.

Thank God for trees, though. They're big, strong, solid. And when a renegade mower is trying to land its "master" in the creek, one of them might just be willing to lend a hand.


When we crashed into a sympathetic tree, I was glad to be alive and well, rather than pinned under the mower in our creek. Then, after assessing the tragic situation, I wondered if that might actually be a preferable alternative.


I dislodged my foot from the mowing deck and trudged up to the shed. What better time for my older brother to show up! What a nice, helpful surprise awaited him--the mower was not in the shed, but taking a siesta in the middle of the woods.


Isaac wasted no time in informing me that I was going to have to tell Dad. "Umm... no?" After trying to avoid it for a good 5 minutes, I finally dragged myself down to the basement--where my dad's study is located--and stood in front of the door.


Gulping, I went in and relayed my horror story to my father. With a look of unbelief and shock on his face, he marched up the stairs and outside. As I watched him take in the situation, I expected him to start blowing up and maybe decide to blow me up for punishment. Instead, he started laughing. To me, it wasn't funny at all. C'mon, laughing? The whole thing was so stupid and ridiculous that it was funny... to him, anyway. At the moment, I almost wished he would get mad instead because the laughing just messed with me.


Now, the question was, how to get the mower out of the woods? Well, the three of us attempted to back it out using its own power while pushing at the same time, but did I mention that Samson doesn't like hills? It was obvious that it was never going to work. So, my dad called somebody from our church, who owns a truck, to ask if he could come help us out. He did, bringing both his truck and a chain. Without too much trouble, he hauled the mower out of its sorry predicament so we could keep on mowing our yard with ease.


Well, not me, of course. I had to keep on using the nasty push mower until I turned twelve. Ah, the tragedies of childhood...




p.s. In case you were wondering, I've never been able to look Sampson in the eyes ever since.


JPK (now older, and hopefully a little wiser)



If this made u laugh, post a comment; even if it's "hahahahahahahahaaha"--my personal favorite.


If this didn't make u laugh, then something is wrong with one of us, and I'm guessing it's you, rather than me!