Like father, like son, like grandson

Sunday morning the family goes to church. We arrive a bit early as Amanda and I are teaching one of the Sunday School classes. The kids are running around for a while, but then people start coming in and the place starts to fill up. We spend a little time getting our classroom set up, asking the boys to help us out. I run out to get some extra cups and, as I walk into the foyer, I get to witness my son Andrew, in the middle of the room, tucking in his shirt. Unfortunately, he comes from a line of Walch men who show little discretion… his belts undone, pants unbuttoned and pulled down a little bit, and he’s getting the shirt all straight before buttoning himself up. Of course, I rush him off to the side a little bit, off the public stage. Although I probably should have been a little embarrassed for him, I really wasn’t. He obviously wasn’t. And, I doubt my Dad would have been.