“Drilling Through Time”

At the back of Grandpa René’s workshop, there was an object all the grandchildren loved to handle: an old hand drill, with its red crank and wooden handle polished by time.

It was more than a tool—it was a memory machine.

Every Sunday after lunch, Grandpa René would tell incredible stories, holding the drill like a magical scepter. “This tool,” he’d say, “drilled the board of your cradle, the door of the cabin in the woods, and even Grandma’s heart the first time I made her a wobbly shelf.”

The drill creaked when turned, but it always held strong. It had witnessed generations of projects: wooden cars, airplane models, even a cardboard castle for the dog.

For the children, it was an enchanted object, capable of creating anything with a bit of imagination… and sweat.

When Grandpa passed away, the drill remained on the workbench. No one dared to put it away. One day, the youngest grandchild, Leo, picked it up and said, “I’m going to make stories too.”

And he turned the crank, heart pounding. The old wood creaked. A new adventure was beginning.