My dad was building one of the houses we lived in when my brother and I were probably 10 and 7. It was getting ready for drywall and a large stack leaned against the far wall in the basement. My brother and I being bored, decided to count it piece by piece, standing one up after another from it's leaning position. After about 15 to 20 pieces, the stack started to go over, crashing down on the concrete. The weight of all those sheets left a crack in the floor from one side of the basement to the other. Luckily we both stepped back and let it go, but man did our rears hurt after that.
To a small child, the perfect granddad is unafraid of big dogs and fierce storms but absolutely terrified of the word “boo.” – Robert Brault