Crankcase oil coursed my dad’s veins. He repaired engines for a living. Dad loved machines.
But God gave my dad a mechanical moron, a son who couldn’t differentiate between a differential and a brake disc. Dad tried to teach me. I tried to learn. Honestly, I did. Machines anesthetized me. But books fascinated me. What does a mechanic do with a son who loves books?
He gives him a library card. Buys him a few volumes for Christmas. Places a lamp by his bed so he can read at night. Pays tuition so his son can study college literature in high school. My dad did that. You know what he didn’t do? Never once did he say: “Why can’t you be a mechanic like your dad and granddad?”
Study your children while you can. The greatest gift you can give your child is not your riches, but revealing to them their own!
