Grandpas' boy

When Mark was born, my mom said he looked my dad.  I didn't really see it because he didn't have a mustache.

Also, we gave Mark my dad's name.

Then his hair grew in.  Red like his Grandpa Linn, curly like his Grandpa Mark.

And he didn't just resemble his grandpas.  He loved them.  The youngest grandchild, he was always the one on Grandpa Linn's lap.  He ran into their arms whenever he saw his grandfathers.

Then more and more of his personality emerged.  He's a builder like his grandpa that built a house and creates art out of steel and sterling silver.  He's a builder like his grandpa that was an engineer and built airplanes.

Both grandpas were the go to if you needed anything fixed.  They could repair anything.  One lives far away and one lives in heaven and here we are.

Except Mark is starting to be able to fix things.  Like his grandpas.  He can put together an IKEA bookshelf like I can make a cake mix cake.  (Easily.)

A few days ago I had a new lantern to take to Girls' Camp.  I put the batteries in.  I couldn't get it put back together.  It shouldn't have been that hard.  I asked Braeden.  He shrugged.  Then I asked Mark.  He looked at it, he tried.  He couldn't make it work either.  I moved on to other pursuits.  (Sometimes I ignore problems and lanterns that won't go back together.)  A while later, Mark brought it to me.  He said, "I fixed it."  And he had.

Because he is his grandpas' boy.

And I am so glad.

Mark and Grandpa Linn

Mark and Grandpa Dahl

Just Mark.   I couldn't resist.  Where did this baby go?