Home alone Friday evening, I was sitting on the couch watching television when at about 6:30 the doorbell rang. I don’t like when the door bell rings, because rarely when I open it do I find someone on the other side who I actually want to see. My doorbell ringing visitors normally fall into one of three categories; 1) The political candidate looking for my support. I politely accept their literature, tell them I’m planning on voting for them and wish them the best of luck. Technically that’s probably going to turn out to be a lie. I haven’t made any such plans about their candidacy, but it gets them off of my doorstep quickly and everyone walks away happy. 2) The solicitor. Regardless of what they’re selling, my pat answer is that I gave at the office. Although I only count this as one lie, I suppose it could be considered two. I didn’t really give at the office because I currently don’t have an office. However the genius of this response is that the person can’t figure out a way to sell me something I supposedly already have, so this also gets them off of my porch rather quickly. This scenario leaves only one of us happy, but the good thing is that it’s me. 3) The Jehovah’s Witnesses. This is a tough one. There’s almost no way of getting them to leave quickly. I thank them for wanting to save my soul and let them know that just 20 years ago Jesus knocked on my door and informed me that He had already taken care of that for me, so I’m good to go…..so to speak. I’m able to look them in the eye and say it with a straight face because thankfully that one actually is the truth. Having said that, I hate to admit this. If God measured the amount of times I tell the truth to people who knock on my door the same way statisticians measure baseball batting averages, I’d be hitting .333 and considered to be a super star. Unfortunately He doesn’t so, I’m not.
Friday’s visitor was a solicitor. At first when I opened the door I didn’t see anyone. Not until I looked down did I see the pint sized salesman. A little kid about ten years old looked up at me and said, “Hey mister, can I mow your lawn?” He was a cute little twerp, very polite. I was a couple of days tardy in mowing the yard so it did need it. This should have been a no brainer, but without even giving it a thought I said, “No thanks, I mow it myself.” He said, “Okay.” and walked away looking kind of dejected.
I sat back down to watch more television and began to think of all the times I went door to door asking people if I could mow their lawns or shovel their sidewalks and wondered why kids don’t do that anymore. Maybe I thought, it was because adults like me don’t give them the chance. I rushed to the door, ran outside, and looked up and down the block. I wanted to say, “Come back you cute little freckle faced kid, I’ll let you mow my lawn.” But I was too late. He was gone.
I have to admit that I was disappointed in myself. Many of us, and that includes me, like to talk about how kids just aren’t the same as they used to be. That usually means they’re not as polite or as hard working as we think that we were. To a certain extent, that may be true. But what’s just as true, what we need to face up to, is that a lot of adults aren’t the same as they used to be either. Many adults back in “our day” would have been smart enough to let that kid mow his lawn, understood the importance of allowing him to do it. Not only that, they would have let him mow it whether the lawn needed mowing or not. Then when he was done, they would have paid him and probably given him a glass of lemonade to boot.
I want a second chance. I want that kid to come back and ask me again. But he won’t, because my house is now the one where the guy who mows his own lawn lives. As the saying goes, you only get one chance to make a first impression.