I’ve been raking the leaves in my backyard for about 15 years now. The first year, I was an idealistic 25-year-old, full of stubborn vigor. I heard the hums of leaf blowers off in the distance and shrugged my shoulders, resolute with the feeling of strength I had for doing it “the hard way.”
I was also a bit overconfident. After raking my lawn for hours, carrying tarp load upon tarp load to the front curb, sweat glistening off my forehead, I would walk past the more seasoned homeowners. They were done with their leaves as well, but they used machinery to get the job done. I’d scamper past them as they were resting on their front stoops, leaf blower resting by their side and utter something like, “You missed a spot,” mockingly pointing to the back corner of their side yard. Then I would laugh to myself as they stared back at me, with a sadness in their eyes.
Over the years, as I got older and the soreness lingered, I still heard the hum of the leaf blowers. They were growing more noisy with each passing year. Still, I refused to give in. I was the one carrying the legacy of the rake, the only “rake guy” left in Rockville. I was responsible for showing newer generations that the struggle was real. It was a burden, I won’t lie. Continue reading “The raking guy: A (mostly true) essay on the seasonal struggle”
The Author of Sarcasm 