Why is that important? Well, to answer that question, first I have to introduce you a little bit to my grandfather and the way I knew him. So, Papa - meet the reader; Reader -meet Granvel Morris Webb, my granddad. Let me start this by saying that my granddad and I probably did not have the best relationship as far as he and I were concerned. He was to me about as stubborn as a mule, primarily concerned with the need to see me working in the area of manual labor and that the only worthwhile professions that he felt would be of benefit to me were agriculture or auto mechanics. I, in contrast, was (and probably still will be) a creative soul, concerned with making good grades and working within the music industry - things that he thought were total wastes of time. Talk about being as different as night and day - it was the equivalent of trying to mix oil and water into iced tea.
He loved getting out and doing things with his hands and rode around his pickup around town and the country as if he had a thousand acres of farmland. I, on the other hand, hated and dreaded the times where, without warning, he would impatiently want me to go out and help him do some roofing around the house or change the oil in ALL of his cars and pickup or help him with some plumbing. I was happily content to read books or do something else while he on the other hand hated it when I wouldn't go out right then at his beck and call to do a little bitty thing like finding a 9/16ths crescent wrench or a level. He couldn't do figures to save his life; I couldn't find tools in his workshop fast enough to suit him and prevent him from giving me a verbal reprimand (as well as the remote possibility of slapping me for anything that he regarded as backtalk).
