Tim Wildmon
AFA president
June 2004 – “Now, let me show you something,” my lovely and talented wife Alison said to me as I slowly reversed my all-fours to get out of the front flower bed. Spring had arrived and Alison was just itching to get out in that yard and stick her hands in some dirt. Yeah! So at her direction I had been chopping the monkey grass back so it would sprout better. Cut off the old, get ready for the new.
“You have to be like a painter. You have to step away from the canvas and see how you’ve done so far. See how you missed this over here…” She took the knife from me and went to do it herself.
I picked myself up off the ground, stood up, straightened my back, let it pop a couple of times and looked at her.
“Right,” said I with a look of concern. Then came the work ethic cliches.
“Even if it takes longer, I would rather finish one section right than to do two sections and have to come back over the first section again because I wasn’t thorough,” she told me. Even though she was using first person, there was no doubt that she was talking about me. But I was being a good little husband and she didn’t want to scold me too hard, considering the effort I was giving. So she gently corrected me, using herself instead of me in the classic “do right the first time” line.
“Can we not think of a clever metaphor to use at this point – that’s if you feel the need to criticize – rather than the same old work-ethic yada-yada my mom used on me for 18 years,” I said to myself. I thought I had done a fairly good job pruning the monkey grass, actually. But I guess it wasn’t quite good enough. So, I just stood there and took it. She handed me the knife and moved on to other yard chores. I went back to my canvas of monkey grass.
Smart married men have learned the art of taking it. You just give some semblance of paying attention to your wife while head-bobbing in the affirmative as you think positive thoughts like summer nights in St. Louis watching the Cardinals play. Anything to avoid getting into a disagreement or argument over the quality of your work. It’s just not worth it.
They say in marriage, opposites attract. But for the most part, that does not fit Alison and me. We both were born in 1963. We both graduated from Tupelo High School in 1981, and later from Mississippi State University. She was right on time in 1985. I was a little behind in 1986. (Well, I was just being thorough.) We both have brown hair and blue eyes. Both have parents – all native Mississippians – that have been married for nearly 45 years. We share the same children. We both enjoy sports, travel, Fox News. Both love Italian and Mexican cuisine, steaks and fried catfish. Neither cares for Chinese food. And we’re both night owls.
But then there are just a few things in which we are opposites. She likes novels, I like autobiographies. She likes cotton candy, I can’t stand it. And Alison absolutely loves working in the yard. It’s not really the routine stuff, like mowing everything down, that gives her life meaning. It’s giving the grounds great aesthetic appeal that gives her a charge.
Me? I’m not there. Never will be. Just mow it, is how I feel. But, of course, just mowing would not be thorough. Perhaps this ill feeling for yard work goes back to my childhood.
When I was 12, I used to mow a couple of yards each week to make ends meet. Didn’t like it all. Only did it for the money. Push mower, large lawns, humid days and those tiny gnats that bite hard and caused welts. I hated to see the sun rise on lawn mowing days.
I did one two-hour mowing job for five bucks for a man down the street. Tell me that wasn’t child abuse. Five bucks for two hours in the hot sun. I would name names, but he is still alive and it would embarrass his family and mine.
Despite our differences about yard work, Alison and I will celebrate 20 years of marriage on July 28, 2004. That’s one thing I definitely did right the first time. My years with her – which began as high school sweethearts – have been the most blessed of my life.
For that reason, Alison will enjoy – and I will quietly endure –another season of yard work. I hope there are many more in our future. 
