Usually in this space, I write stories about real live people and situations that have been massaged, elongated, truncated, combined, culled and/or enhanced as a means of respecting the guilty.

Sometimes the truth is completely unvarnished — Mark Heyn actually said, “It’s good we’re having weather” — sometimes identities are cloaked by alias (one of my three closest friends is the “Jimmy” that dislikes Daylight Saving Time — he really does hate it!), and sometimes reality is just so funny you can’t fix it (so, I just tell it the way it happened).

However, just for today, please allow me the indulgence of pulling out my virtual wallet (because my real one is old, worn and nearly empty) and show you the “snapshots” of my grandkids.

Currently I have four incredible grandkids. Keep in mind that the phone could ring at any moment and any of my offspring might announce the coming of the next blessed event.

Cassy is 16, going on 21. She is beautiful (Yes, I’m a little biased, but the Apple Festival judges agreed with me a couple years back), intelligent (I’ll let her report cards do the bragging, here), and perfect in every way (I refuse to let her mom, dad, or younger sister tell me otherwise).

She is a member of the FFA and Robotics teams. When robotic cows catch on, she’ll be unstoppable.

Tiffany is Cassy’s younger sister. She is 13, and I am having a hard time coming to grips with her being a teenager. When she was younger and full of spit and vinegar, she could find a plethora of ways to be mad at the world (I blame her grandmother. It certainly didn’t come from my side of the family — or so I say).

During these fits of fury, I would tell her, “Don’t you dare laugh or smile or have a good time.”

Her contrarian nature made her immediately challenge my authority and she would laugh, smile and have a good time. To this day, the first thing she says to me is, “Papa, I’m going to smile and you can’t stop me.”

If I’m going to be disobeyed, that’s the way it should always be.

Aiden is 3 years old and Papa’s shadow. His mom and dad live next door, so this guy is always around and I wouldn’t have it any other way.

When he was a toddler and would start to cry, I would pick him up, take him out to my workshop and tell him all about my tools and what they do. I am sure his first word was “saw,” which frustrates his mom, dad and grandmother because they all think he should have said “Mama,” “Daddy,” or “Nana.”

Now, I can’t start for the garage door without him being close behind, wanting to pull the handle of my drill press or fire off my pin nailer.

Keep in mind, he is only three and people get mad at me for letting him work with power tools. In my defense, he does wear safety glasses.

Baby Liam is the youngest of the brood at just under one year old. His “older” cousin Aiden gave him the moniker the first time they met and it seems to have stuck. His dad is a big, strapping young man and there is ample indication that “Baby” Liam is going to follow suit. My guess is that he will be playing linebacker for the Bears (my choice) or the Lions (his dad’s choice) and still be tagged with Baby Liam.

Thank you for indulging a proud grandfather. I’ll put my wallet back now and you can go back to what you were doing.

Larry Wilson is a mostly lifelong resident of Niles. His optimistic “glass full to overflowing” view of life shapes his writing. His essays stem from experiences, compilations and recollections from friends and family. Wilson touts himself as “a dubiously licensed teller of tall tales, sworn to uphold the precept of ‘It’s my story; that’s the way I’m telling it.’” He can be reached at wflw@hotmail.com.