He’s probably going to be a bit miffed, but I’ll say it anyways. Big Daddy is Hank Hill when it comes to his yard. In fact, we’ve already told him this to his face. I’ve just never written about it. But when I looked outside today, and saw this 50 year old man out cutting our very large yard when we have two strong able-bodied young men living here with part-time jobs and no more school at the moment, I think I’m correct with the Hank Hill tag. The boys cut grass and do yard work for many of the neighbors, yet Big Daddy rarely makes them cut our grass. Despite the fact that Big Daddy is overwhelmed with how much stuff he has to do. Despite the fact that Big Daddy has very bad knees thanks to primitive arthroscopic surgery in the 70’s. Despite the fact that even J’s sometimes slacker friends came over and said to J one day, “Dude, I can’t believe your dad’s cuttin’ the grass. Why aren’t you doing it?” But he’s very particular about his grass. It has to be perfect. I even tried to get him to show me how to do it at one time. I don’t think I came close to meeting those grass-cutting standards.
Since our Hank Hill does not live with moronic Bobby Hill or Peggy, I think he could delegate his grass-cutting duties once in a while. We promise not to kill the lawn.