I stood up, and I looked Brett dead in the eye, and then I did the thing that surprised even me. I did not tear into him. I turned instead and looked at my grandson, the baby they had just christened, sleeping in his mother arms, and I raised my glass to him, and I spoke to the whole room about that little boy.
I said, I want to say something to my grandson, since we are all here for him. Little man, someday you are going to grow up, and I hope you work with your hands, the way your great grandfather did and the way I have for forty years. I hope you build things, and fix things, and know the feeling of an honest days work. And I hope, more than anything, that when you do, nobody ever makes you feel small for it. Because there is no shame in a working man. The shame belongs to whoever looks down on him.
I did not need to attack Brett. I just told my grandson the truth, and let the whole room watch Brett realize it was aimed at him.
The room had gone quiet. Brett grin faded as it dawned on him what I was doing. I kept my voice gentle, because I was not talking to hurt him. I was talking to bless my grandson, and to finally, after all these years, say out loud that I would not be made the mule at my own family table anymore.
Then I set my glass down, and I said the last of it, plain. I said, Brett, I have fixed your fence and hauled your junk and dug your stumps at seventy two years old, and I did it gladly, because I love my daughter and my grandbabies. But I am done being good for something. From now on, when you need a hand, you can hire one, and pay him what the work is worth, the way you would any man you respected. I will still be here for my family. I will not be here for your errands.
My daughter Kayla was crying by then, and not the embarrassed kind. She stood up beside me and told Brett, in front of everyone, that she was ashamed she had let it go on so long, that her father deserved better, and that things were going to change. Brett did not have a word to say. There is no comeback to a grandfather blessing his grandson and a wife who has finally had enough.
Things did change. Brett does not call me for free labor anymore. When he does see me, he calls me sir, and I think he even means it now. But the thing I hold onto is not Brett being humbled. It is the look on my daughter face when she stood up beside me, and the thought of my grandson someday hearing about the day his grandfather stood up at his christening and said a working man is nobody joke. I said it for the baby. I hope he grows up knowing it in his bones.