The lawn guy is going to clean up our leaves this year, and now I'm having a crisis of identity

The AI Blog Post Image Generator did a better job with this fake photo than it did on Wednesday's post, but I still question this AI-generated landscaper's facial features.

Many years ago when I worked at the Cleveland Clinic, I had frequent opportunity to interact with Dr. Roger Mee, a world-renowned pediatric heart surgeon. In addition to being very good at his job and a nice man, he was also quite wealthy.

Or at least wealthy enough to own one of the finer homes in our area, located in what is often referred to as the "tony" Cleveland suburb of Gates Mills. The house happens to be situated along the route we take to and from church each Sunday, so we pass it constantly.

Quite often when I drove by during my Clinic years, I would see Dr. Mee on a small riding mower cutting the grass. You have to understand, this stately home is located on a very large lot. There are acres of grass there, and from what I could tell, Dr. Mee would cut all of it himself.

One of the best pediatric heart surgeons in the world, who commanded a commensurately high salary, was out there for hours at a time mowing his lawn.

This always amazed me, and one time I asked him about.

"Dr. Mee," I said, "I see you on your riding mower all the time. Do you always cut the grass yourself?"

He said he did.

"How long does it take you?"

"About 5 or 6 hours."

"Wow, is it a stress reliever?"

"The first 3 hours are. The rest of it is just a pain in the ass."

Yet there he was, week in and week out, keeping that grass trimmed even though I'm sure he could easily have afforded a landscaper to do it for him.

That has always impressed me, particularly since I now pay someone to mow my much-smaller lawn.

Nick, our landscaper, does an excellent job. Like Dr. Mee, he's very good at what he does. If I was going to hire someone, I'm not sure I could have made a better choice.

But as I mentioned in a post here a few months ago, having a lawn guy (not to mention a snow plow guy) takes some getting used to.

I spent 30 years cutting my own grass. Even when I really didn't feel up to it, I always took some pride in doing the job myself.

Then I started earning extra income as a PA announcer, and suddenly the luxury of having someone else out there in the yard sweating instead of me became a real possibility.

Hiring Nick has turned out to be a good move, at least when I'm not questioning my own masculinity for turning the job over to him. I can never quite shake the feeling that I'm shirking one of my key responsibilities as husband/dad.

Now, with the advent of fall, it gets even better...or worse, depending on how you look at it.

Over the next couple of weeks, Nick is going to collect the leaves in our half-acre lot and deposit them near the street for the city to pick up. None of us will have to touch a rake or pull a tarp laden with leaves. He will handle the whole thing, and being Nick, he will handle it well.

It will be more than worth the cost to have him do it.

Still...I can't help but look at those as my leaves piling up in my yard. Part of me still believes it's my job to gather them up and haul them out of there.

I'm sure I'll get over this feeling in time, but honestly, how do rich people who weren't born rich adjust to having gardeners and nannies and such? I can't imagine.

Not that I'm aching to go outside and fire up the lawn mower or the leaf blower, mind you. But I'll admit, I'm still adjusting to the concept.

I now have a lawn mowing guy and a snow plow guy, and I feel spoiled

For 30 years, I cut my own grass and shoveled the snow out of my driveway. Neither of these things is my favorite chore, but it was a point of pride that I did them myself.

Now someone else does them, and I'm not sure what to think.

It started last November when I was out shoveling the aftermath of the first snowstorm of the season. A guy drove up in a plow truck and asked if I wanted to hire him to clear our driveway for the winter.

His name was (and still is, for that matter) Jason. I asked how much he charged. He asked what I thought was fair. It turns out he normally does only commercial snow removal, but he was going to be in the neighborhood regularly to clear his mom's driveway anyway and could do mine whenever needed.

I told him he had a deal and I would get back to him on the going rate for residential driveways our size.

It was one of those mild winters where the plow guy comes out way ahead financially vs. the number of times he actually needs to clear the snow, but I didn't care. Jason is reliable and does a thorough job. I'm willing to pay a premium for that kind of service.

Yet...each time he came, there was a part of me that would watch him through the living room window and think, "What am I, 90 years old? I should be out there doing that myself. I don't need a plow guy."

Which I realize is dumb, but I was so used to me and/or the kids shoveling the snow that having a non-family member do it seemed strange.

Now fast forward to this past spring. I had some extra money from my PA announcing work. I knew my least favorite part of the time period from, say, April through October was cutting the grass. I saw a few landscapers advertising on our local community Faecbook page, so I reached out to one who had good reviews.

His name is Nick. He came over and assessed our yard and told me he could cut the grass, edge/trim and clean everything up once a week for $50 a pop. It takes me a little more than an hour of concerted effort to mow our half-acre lot, so this felt like a pretty good deal.

Now Nick comes every Monday to take care of my grass. I see him out there doing a nice job and I think to myself, "This is great! I love not having to worry about it anymore. I should have done this years ago. Of course, the fact that I've given it up also makes me a wuss."

I cannot escape this way of thinking. This idea that asking for help – even hiring help – is some sign of weakness. It makes no sense, but then many things that run through my brain these days make no sense.

Speaking of which, Terry and I have a strange mental block when it comes to remembering Nick's name. At various times (this is true), we have referred to him as Jason, Josh, Ryan and Kyle, in addition to this actual name.

Maybe I really am 90 years old.