One of the best things about raising children is all of the firsts that happen for each child. When I was young, living in the old house on Bright Street, my father would mow the lawn with this really old tank of a lawn mower. This was still in the days that when the equipment broke, you fixed it multiple times before you threw it away. The mower was a red affair with a dented gas cap that would cross the threads if placed without care. I would watch my dad mow with precise lines the small lawn in front of my childhood home. I always wanted to help and often, I would follow in his foot steps, watching the impressions of his feet in the newly mowed lawn. My trailing behind dad could not have lasted long. He, I'm sure could not have known that I was behind him all the time, and he, of course, realized how dangerous it was for me to be directly behind him when he would stop and turn. That is how I think I found myself pushing on the middle rung of the lawn mower shortly after...