One of the coolest things about my father-in-law is that he’s self-employed and has been for a very long time. He works with his hand and his heart and his head. He’s situated in a historic part of the town, sort of an outdoor shopping mall type feel, but in a very small town with lots of unique shops. This is a great little treasure amidst the otherwise national brands the grace most of the rest of our city. The last time we had visited Grandpa’s shop was when our son was too young to walk (if memory serves). This time there was all manner of trouble to get into.
There’s something about Grandparents that just begs a Grandchild to act crazy and do things their parents would rather they not. I know that my siblings and I would always cause a ruckus anytime we were visiting the Grandparents. While our Mom and Dad would ask us to calm down, we’d be dancing and signing and misbehaving (mildly) while our Grandparents showered us with smiles and encouragement. Perhaps this is the way it’s always been. (Let’s just say I’m looking forward to being a Grandparent myself.)
So there was our son in Grandpa’s shop. Powertools, torches, heavy steel cabinets with easy to open gliding drawers (full of hundreds of pounds of tools and other sharp things) were everywhere. Projects in-progress were stacked up in a variety of locations. Danger, in short, was everywhere. Grandpa, while certainly looking out for his Grandson, was not worried. There was little he needed to be protected from. Perhaps the electrical socket over there, or the powercords under the desks that only our son could run through, but for the most part he was, and would be, safe. And he was. And he had a great time. And he really REALLY wants to go back. And, you know what, he will.