My first attempt at a multi-chapter story. Based on a true story.

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“I was sure we were done this time. I should have known better. It’s never done” I wasn’t angry or surprised as much as I was annoyed and frustrated. The chore not only seemed like a pointless make-work project, but seemed to be quite effective at making that work. And hard work at that.

My dad paused before replying, “The front yard looks nice now, but this would just make it look more finished. A little bit of effort for a lot of gain.” Here he stopped to let me reply, or at least acknowledge what he said. “And don’t roll your eyes at me” he added after a moments thought.

At this point I just decided to agree to appease him. I truly believed that he would forget about this by the end of the day. “Fine, I’ll do it. I should start working sometime this week.” And those words were my big mistake. Summer holiday? I wish.

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I guess I should explain this whole situation. I’m an average 16 year old. I play basketball and enjoy hanging out with friends. Over the last 6 or 7 years, my family had gone through the long process of completely remaking our house and yard. First it was the renovation. We (well actually, a contractor we hired, but why argue semantics) took the entire top floor off our house and rebuilt it.

Then we (yes, actually we this time, I remember having drywall dust covering my entire body) remodelled the basement, and in the process moved all the useless junk we own (boxes and boxes that have never been opened since we moved here almost 12 years ago, don’t ask me why don’t we just though it out) from one side of the basement to other, several times as we moved through the steps (I wish they were that clearly defined) of construction. Actually one of the most difficult steps was building a set of steps from our kitchen to our basement. That’s either irony or stupidity, I’m actually not quite sure.

Anyways, with this done, my parents turned their attention on our hapless back yard. Previously just a patch of scruffy grass, a concrete patio, some stubby shrubs, and shrubby stubs, it was to become a jungle oasis of calm. A stone patio, complete with stylish patio furniture; a well manicured garden, complete with ornamental grasses that look like overgrown weeds ; and a tasteful yet elegant fountain, actually made of fake marble.

Even with this accomplished, we were not done. No rest for the wicked, I guess. Previously our front yard had been almost a mirror image of the back. You know the drill, grass, shrubs, and concrete. But all that was going the way of the dodo as the sweep of renewal passed across our property. So now there’s a winding stone path up to the front door, framed by flowering plants and lit at night by little wrought iron lamps. I actually think our house and yard now contain enough wrought iron to reconstruct a full size locomotive.

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This brings us back to the present. With all this finished perfection around us, you think a small thing like the lack of a curb between the grass and the street would be no problem. I mean really, technically that grass strip between the sidewalk and the street isn’t even our property. It belongs to the city, and if they can’t be bothered to build a curb, why should I? Because that’s what my dad said. And around here, his word is law. Or at least a by-law.