Our son asked if I knew what the favorite gift was he received as a kid. I thought about saying “pony,” but we never got him one. It’s a good thing I didn’t start guessing, because it turns out his favorite gift wasn’t from us — it was from my dad, his grandpa. “A box of wood scraps,” he said, effusively bobbing his head up and down, like everybody on the planet knows wood scraps would be a kid’s favorite gift. “Now do you remember?” he pressed.