Mr. Magic

My Grandad. Tom O’Neill. On his birthday today, my mind rewinds itself to magical times past.

It may not have been his trade, but he had an amazing talent for woodwork and carpentry. He had a tool shed out the back, filled with all sorts of strange and wonderful looking objects, from which he’d conjure delight after delight, and gift after gift, sometimes practical, sometimes just sweet.

He would spend hours designing, measuring, sawing, hammering and all the rest. And, he was always happy to stop and explain the whats and wherefores, even if we’d just skipped up to take a look — or mess with the sawdust.

When I was a kid, If he’d rolled a wooden spaceship out that shed door, I’d have believed we’d all be off and away to the moon. There was no doubt it wouldn’t fly. No doubt at all.

We’re talking magic, after all…

Like what you read? Give Writerly Whimsy a round of applause.

From a quick cheer to a standing ovation, clap to show how much you enjoyed this story.