“Love is giving others the experiences and opportunities you perhaps wished you’d had yourself. Mum and dad needed those banknotes more than my selfish soul ever did, but I’ve never forgotten the giant hearts that went into those gifts.” ANTONIO DI DIO continues his “Short History of Kindness”.

WELL, you can have your balloons and ribbons, heart emojis and smileys. 

While entirely guaranteed to make my soppy dad-smile appear, none of those things approach the ultimate symbol of true love – the lawnmower!

Rarely, in this pain-addled difficult world, has the humble two-stroke ever failed in its ability to communicate the depth of connection and meaning between humans, and even with the new battery versions today, their weekend buzz fills my heart anew. A visit to Bunnings remains the pinnacle of our humanity to each other.

When I was 19 and I’d too often spend too many hours paying too much cash for too many drinks at some alliterative bar in the Cross, there was always a special choice open to me. 

You see, after some painful years without employment, my papa found himself some casual painting and lawn-mowing jobs. When I was at uni, dad would mow lawns for $5 or $10 depending on size, exactly the same complex fee structure I charged in those days for playing the organ in church – $5 for a funeral and $10 for a wedding! 

After accumulating $20, dad would walk to the bank and they’d give him a crisp note, wink at him, and the tellers, both recently having been in my year at school, would then watch him wander to the post office. Then the nice people at the counter would put the note in an envelope and address it to me, and dad would proudly write “your papa” and it would arrive to me a few days later. 

He never told mum, but the bank manager and postie did and I imagined she had yet another opportunity to reflect on the gormless foolishness of her menfolk. 

Then I’d fold it in the secret compartment of my wallet and forget about it till I was next out at 3am deciding between a taxi home or more carousing. 

Dad thought I was Mario Lanza in the “Student Prince” and I would be singing “O Sole Mio” with perfectly teethed choreographed dancers at my side. The reality was a little different but the fun was the same, and I have thanked him every day since. 

Love is giving others the experiences and opportunities you perhaps wished you’d had yourself. Mum and dad needed those lobster-coloured banknotes more than my selfish soul ever did, but I’ve never forgotten the giant hearts that went into those gifts, and the involvement of a loving town that embraced them.

While at the university, I remember some tricky interviews with various college leaders, possibly after a little of the amateur carousing, asking my thoughts about how I qualified for a continued invitation to reside in their sandstone walls. 

Once a wonderful woman called Sister Mary (a different Sister Mary to the one who taught me to speak better English and play Beethoven, both with varying degrees of mediocrity) asked if I knew anything about a young, curly haired man found at 3am the previous night, singing “O Sole Mio” in loud Italian while operating the lawnmower on the carpeted walls of the College of the Blessed Virgin, interrupting the sleep of many blessed virgins in said corridors. 

While many of my companions over the years had been expelled for less, all Sister M had to say was please don’t do it again, boy, and to clean the mower, and I never did it again, and I cleaned the mower. 

It seems I’ve responded better to forgiveness than to expulsion in my life, although I wish I didn’t give my loved ones so many things to forgive. In my next life I don’t care what kind of creature I am, but please let it be one with an attention span.

I loved how Kevin, the sweet natured idiot of “Seachange” on late ’90s ABC TV, once took a month off and it was first noted by all the old people in the town having unmown front lawns. He did it for everyone, and never told a soul. 

I loved how Billy Lenthall at the shop in Macksville sold dad a mower one day when he came in asking for a chainsaw, because he knew the difference between what dad wanted and what he needed, and cared enough about him to persuade. 

Years later, I see grandkids mowing their nannies’ lawns, and see the birth of adult thoughtfulness. When the space program restarts and we send a capsule expressing the best of our species to the planet Koosbain, then alongside the Constitution, a photo of Mother Teresa, and the first couple of Led Zep albums, let’s throw in a ’70s vintage Victa with a full tank and a couple of spare plugs. They’ll know it signifies the love we have for each other. 

Antonio Di Dio is a local GP, medical leader, and nerd. There’s more of his “Kindness” on citynews.com.au