My grandson tried to unscrew the legs from a stool today, so I took him to my father’s toolshed and we found jars of nails and screws. I got him a short length of a 2 x4, my dad’s hammer, and some screwdrivers. We spent the rest of the day screwing in regular and phillips screws (righty-tighty lefty-loosey) and pounding in different size nails (“Oh my doodness, look, a little tiny baby nail!”)
The hammer is heavy, but he pounded until his little arm was wobbly with the weight. He looks like he’ll have my dad’s big hands. We used to call them “carpenter’s hands.” I wish my dad could have been the one teaching him about tools, and rides in wheelbarrows…
