In America, we reap what we mow

My wife and I have two boys, 12 and 14. At their age, I mowed yards, $5 a yard. My gardener charges $200 a month.

Boys, meet yard work.

I needed a mower. On sale at Osh -- a Craftsman with a Briggs & Stratton engine.

The boys are eager. Start slow: Gas goes here; oil goes there.

"Uh, Dad" -- it's the younger one -- "I think I put the gas where the oil goes."

Rome wasn't mowed in a day.

They each get $10 for mowing the yard; one does the front, the other the back.

Summer turns to fall, then winter, then spring. Grass is mowed. Money changes hands.

The mower breaks. It has a bad governor spring.

I take the tiny spring -- What a Mickey Mouse part, my dad would've said -- to a lawn mower shop.

"What's the engine number?" the clerk asks.

I drive home. I find a number. I call. "That's not the right number," the clerk says.

I look again. I find another number. I call.

"We don't have that spring in stock. We can order it. If there's one in the state of California, we can get it in about a week."

I go to another lawn mower shop.

"What's the model number?" this clerk asks.

"I only have the engine number," I say.

"What kind of shaft on this engine, vertical or horizontal?" he asks. "Is it a reel mower?"

"It's a Craftsman mower with a Briggs & Stratton engine."

"How old is this mower?" he asks.