FOOTPRINTS
IN THE GRASS

It was a cool summer morning and the dew was heavy on the grass. I’m sure that more than one of my neighbors rolled over in bed and put their pillow over their head when they heard my lawn mower start up so early on a Saturday. Still, it was summer in the humid south and I was trying to get the job done before it was too hot. I’ve often said, “I’m allergic to humid heat.”

The grass was tall and thick and wet. Mowing was a chore I often put off longer than I should. I had to push the mower slowly or the grass would clog and stall the engine. About the time I was half way finished with the first pass of the mower, cutting the deepest grass along our back fence, my pacing got off and the mower stalled. I stepped back to pull the mower free from the grass, but as I did I tripped on something directly behind me and nearly fell over. That something was my three-year-old younger son.

“Where did you come from?” I stammered as I picked him up out of the grass and did a quick evaluation to see if he was okay.

“What are you doing here? I thought you were in bed asleep.” I continued my interrogation. He didn’t say anything as I leaned over and bushed him off and gave him a hug. I then began to wonder how he had gotten so close to me without alerting me of his presence. I looked back where I had just cut the grass. At first glance there were only one set of footprints. However, a closer inspection revealed as smaller set of footprints inside of mine. It was clear he had carefully stepped precisely in each of my footsteps and was walking exactly one step behind me and I didn’t know it. “How long have you been following me?” I asked. He just smiled.

This was a powerful learning moment for me. I realized that my sons were going to notice everything I did and, most likely, do the exact same thing. The weight of being a good father and setting a good example came crashing down on me with greater understanding.