Be Vewy, Vewy Quiet...

Our youngest son, Andy, was a cute little kid. He said funny things, and what added to the fun is that he couldn't pronounce R's. We had the best time getting him to say, "Be vewy vewy quiet...I'm hunting WABBITS!" It was a giggle to have our own little Elmer Fudd in the house, but we pressed "replay" too many times on the "wabbit" thing, and it stopped working. Thankfully, as an adult he CAN pronounce R's.

My father-in-law, Andy McClain, was the best auto mechanic I ever knew. He taught auto mechanics at our high school, and could probably put an engine together in the dark. Our Andy, his grandson, must have gotten a pretty heavy dose of those genes, because he has always been interested in mechanical things. Whenever his mother or I were working on anything, Andy soon appeared. Anytime I raised the hood of my car, Andy's head was under it almost before mine was.

In 1984 when Andy was three, my parents came over to Gainesville to help with painting the house. They never missed an opportunity to be near their grandchildren. My dad had just opened a can of paint, and of course, Andy was right there watching him. Daddy had to go around to the other side of the house to get something, but before leaving warned, "Andy, don't touch that paint."

When Daddy returned he found Andy lying on his stomach, his nose just inches from the paint can. Startled to find Andy so close, Daddy asked, "Andy, did you mess with the paint?"

"I didn't touch it, Gwampa. I'm just weadin' the can."