The Legacies We Leave

Before I headed off to work this swing I had one of those rare, quietly profound moments. One that lands in your chest and stays there, long after the tools have been packed away.

My nine-year-old son asked if he could turn an old ride-on lawnmower I had lying around into a tractor. He’s always been handy, started using tools when he was five, so I gave him the nod and let him loose. He ripped off the cutting deck, gave it a clean-up, charged the battery, and next thing you know he’s tearing around the property, grinning like he’d just built a spaceship.

A few days later, my niece dropped off an old garden tipper trailer....just the right size. It needed work, of course. The hitch was dodgy, the tow arm was wobbly, the tipper latch needed sorting. He stood next to me, hands on hips, like a little tradesman and said, “Needs a bit of work.”

Instead of giving him my take, I looked at him casually and remarked, “Not sure, mate....what do you reckon?”

Off he went. An hour later I heard the clank of tools and the buzz of the drop saw. I wandered out to find him suited up in PPE, cutting into an old star picket. “What’s the plan?” I asked. “Reinforcing the hitch. Then I’ll weld it,” he said.

Now, I’d shown him how to run a bead before we went around Australia, but it’d been a year or more. Still, he remembered. And more importantly, he backed himself.

That’s when it hit me - the night before, I’d been chatting with my wife and parents about legacy. We’d shared stories about the most useful skills we’d ever learned and who taught them. I spoke about fishing for bream with my grandfather on the Blackwood River. As I told it, I felt the memories come alive.....the joy, the admiration, the quiet reverence. Mum had tears in her eyes. So did I.

And standing in that shed, watching my son prep steel to weld, I realised it was my turn to build those moments.

My parents live on our little farm. They’re always close by, part of our daily rhythm. The kids see them often, but proximity isn’t the same as presence. Connection takes something extra. And I saw a chance to give my son more than just a project.....I could give him a moment with his grandfather.

So I said to him, “Why don’t you go ask your pop?”

He hesitated. Understandably. My old man, his grandfather, isn’t the most patient bloke. Always in pain. Doesn’t sleep much. Gets short with the kids. But I knew what I was doing.

I went to Dad. “He needs help welding up his trailer,” I said. “I want you to teach him.”

Dad fobbed it off at first. “Nah, you do it. I’ve got too much on.”

I pushed. I reminded him of the conversation the night before....of legacy, of memories, of how powerful it can be to teach someone something they’ll carry for life. “Don’t miss this chance, Dad.”

Reluctantly, he came out to the shed. I pulled him aside. “Teach him Dad, don’t do it for him. This is about more than welding. This is a moment, and it’s yours to share.”

They got started. I stuck around for ten minutes, made sure Dad wasn’t taking over, then left them to it.

Later, I wandered out again. They were testing the finished trailer. Both of them beaming. Talking through the job, checking the welds, bouncing off each other. They barely noticed me and, unsurprisingly, it was an excellent job.

In that moment, I felt something big. My boy, just nine years old, bonding with his 76-year-old grandfather over steel and sweat and shared purpose. No tension. No awkwardness. Just a moment of truth between two people, one beginning his story, the other well into his final chapters.

And I realised: if I don’t make space for these moments, they’ll pass us by. Dad is aging. My boys are growing. One day he’ll be gone, and his voice, all his stories....will fade unless they’re grounded in real memories.

This is what legacy actually looks like, its not trophies, not titles, but the quiet imprint of our presence etched into someone else’s life.

I want my sons to remember their grandfather the way I remember mine. Not as a grumpy old man, but as someone who gave them something to carry forward. A skill, a story, a moment. I want my father to feel pride in helping shape these boys. And I want those boys to grow into men who understand respect, craft, and the value of time spent together.

Because this is the real work, not just raising kids, but raising memory. Raising meaning. Planting moments in their lives that will anchor them when the world gets loud and uncertain.

So if you’re a father, a grandfather....anyone really who’s got wisdom to pass on, ask yourself:

What is your legacy? How will you be remembered? And are you creating the moments now that bind your presence into the next generation’s memory?

These things don’t happen by accident. They take time, intention, a bit of graft. But the return? It’s everything.

Make the time. Create the moment. Craft the legacy.

Because once the time’s gone... so is the chance.