When I was three years old, my metal slinky became impossibly tangled as they are apt to do in the hands of a child. I asked my Papa if he'd fix it for me. When asked why I thought Papa could fix it, I replied, "Papa can fix anything." By my young reasoning of seeing my own father, John, fix most anything, I figured that if his son could fix most things then his father and my Papa must be able to fix all things. And, yes. He fixed it for me. What I didn't know was that he went out and bought me a new slinky. That's just who he was with his grandchildren and great-grandchildren. He loved me so much that rather than tell me it was impossible to fix he went about fixing it in my mind that "Papa can fix anything"... if given enough time and help from his wife, my Mema, and other family to distract his granddaughter while he "fixed it". His love knew no limits to the point of getting a new toy for his grandchild rather than burst her bubbly view of him.