Grandaddy was the finisher; we, the starters.
He insisted present unwrapping went apace. He would grab your gift, rip the paper off, and hand the present back should he deem you were being too slow and careful.
With dessert, if your fork went down for a count of ten, he scooped up the remaining piece of pie or cake, and added vanilla ice cream, smiling as he ate.
He wanted his first grandchild born in a hospital, not at home like all his children. Soon as my mother started having contractions, he finished packing her suitcase, and hustled her off.
A family fable for Moral Mondays: Finish What You Start
(PS: I wasn’t born for another 3 days, on my maternal grandfather’s birthday; contractions started on Grandaddy’s birthday.)