I am grateful that my son has this unique moment at this toddler age via /r/gratitude

There was a time I excavated what must have been ten sacks of rubble and stones from our front yard. Leftovers from past renovations, I guessed. With no place to put them, I carried them, sack by sack, up a ladder to the rooftop concrete—sweat and instinct, no plan, just effort.

Days passed. Then one day, I saw my toddler son playing among the rubble. He was building stories—castles, forts, worlds. The stones were his blocks, the rooftop his kingdom. I watched, and maybe didn’t realize how special that scene really was.

Later, my wife worried about the weight on the rooftop. Understandably. So I moved the sacks, again, this time to the base of a mango tree. And that moment of play never returned—maybe it was the ants, maybe just the mood.

I don’t remember much from the past. My memory skips and stutters. But that moment… that one stayed. And today, I’m grateful. For the rubble, the sweat, the sunshine, and the child’s joy I almost didn’t notice.

Who knew that hauling debris would make a memory?