A Chip Off the Old Block
I remember visiting my grandfather in the early 1960s, when I was a boy of eight or nine years old, and playing with some colored chips that had no meaning for me at the time. Only many years later would I realize their significance. During the summer months when I was on school vacation, my grandfather, who was a painting contractor, would occasionally take me on some of the jobs. One of the men of my grandfather's crew I always remembered was Norman.