The Back Row

Here is a story. As you read, ask your child what they would do.

Fiction, founded on truth. The people in this story are imagined; the choice they face is real.

Ben was ten, and on Saturday morning he had one job. Before he left for the ball field, he had to weed the family garden. There were four rows: tomatoes, peppers, squash, and the beans at the very back.

“Pull them out by the roots,” Dad said before he left for work. “If you only pull the tops, they come right back.”

Ben started fast. He knelt in the dirt and worked his way down the tomato row, then the peppers, then the squash. The weeds came up with little white roots hanging off them, and he tossed them in the bucket. His knees were muddy and his back hurt. Three rows were done, and they looked good.

Then he got to the beans. The bean row was the worst one. It sat behind a line of tall poles, and the weeds there were thick and stubborn. Nobody could see that row from the kitchen window. Ben knew, because he had checked once.

“Ben!” It was Leo, leaning on the fence with his glove. “They’re picking teams. Are you coming?”

Ben looked at the back row. If he did it right, it would take another twenty minutes, maybe more. He would miss the picking of teams. But he had another idea. He could run his hands down the row and snap off the tops of the weeds. It would take two minutes. From the porch, from the kitchen, from anywhere at all, the garden would look finished.