The black thumb
Every summer for the past few years, the few years since the birth of a riding mower in our shed, my father has been on a startling rampage to pillage the wild assortment of flowers that reside on our side lawn. Really, it isn't even a side lawn, it is more of a side lawn to our side lawn. In any matter, he insists on mowing down all the queen anne's lace, the purple, violet, and lavender crown vetch, the black eyed susans, the golden rod, and a multitude of other flowers whose names I can not recall.
This is very sad. No this is not sad this is heinous. Being an amateur gardener and a lover of plants I have the annual intentions of saving the side-side lawn. My efforts go unheeded, and no matter how hard I might try - my dimly glowing green thumb is no match for my father's large and intruding black thumb.
That is right ladies and gentlemen, my father has a black thumb. No plant life will stand in his way, and no weed, shrub, flower, blade, stalk, bush, tree, sapling, ground cover is match for his John Deere. There have been only two things which he has shown any sympathy for - his lawn and the christmas tree. Even in these instances the important introduction of water to the unknowing victim never happens, and any where from days to weeks - a looming brown singes any sign of greenery.
This unsympathetic and disheartened attitude toward most or all forms of plant life is what I like to call the black thumb. Unlike the green thumb, any greenery that may cross it's path will almost surely be slaughtered or shown the ill effects of a slow and painful death.
I am aware of what a black thumb actually is - and I like to think that I can take the phrase a little farther - not only can my father not take proper care of a plant, he refuses to and consequently has developed a spite for immobile living things (plants). It is this idea that saddens and weakens my hope for plant life everywhere - there will always be that one that will kill - always be that one that will wreck havoc upon the gardening world.