It was one of those serendipitous events that happens only a couple of times in someone else's life. They happen so rarely that I've never had an occasion to use the word "serendipitous"... until now.

My oldest son turned 26 last weekend. He is buying his first house. Understandably, he is excited and a little apprehensive. He's been an apartment dweller for so long that he doesn't know how to fix anything. That's what landlords are for.

We assured him that he will learn very quickly what to do when that bathtub drain doesn't drain and you are up to your ankles in a soap scum and hair cocktail; or when you take that first cold shower because your hot water tank... tanked. There is no better teacher than experience. Besides, he can always call his parents. Not that we'll be able to help, but we can sympathize with the best of them.

How is it possible that this boy – man – is 26 years old? Wasn't it only last week when he started sleeping through the night? Wasn't it only a couple of days ago when he sweetly grinned and drool ran down his face? Wasn't it only yesterday when I swore he wouldn't live to see 10? How did I lose all of those years? I can still remember his birth as if I still had stitches and hemorrhoids.

Now he's buying a house, for Pete's sake. Well, it was his birthday, so one of the items we knew he'd need is a book on Do-It-Yourself Home Repair. He'll probably store it high on a shelf in his new house and forget he has it when a doorknob puts a hole in his drywall... but, hey, we did our part.

Other than having to pay rent, apartment life has been good to him. He makes enough money to afford to eat out nearly every night. However, fast food is no longer food to him. He has developed a taste for filet mignon and lobster that is positively indecent. Yes, I'm jealous.

It wasn't that long ago – well, maybe it was – that he would not eat anything but macaroni and cheese or peanut butter sandwiches. The peanut butter had to be Skippy. He was that choosy.

Now he'll have a mortgage, which means that eating out every night will at least be less frequent. So we bought him a cookbook for his birthday as well. He thanked us, but we could tell that it was another gift that would be placed high on that shelf and forgotten. Again, we did our part.

While I was wrapping these two reference books, memory upon memory collided with each other. He was born in Ohio and his first visitor after his birth was my father. My son was my dad's first grandchild. He died when my son was only two years old. They never really got to know each other, but my dad adored him from the first moment the boy wet himself on my dad's pants.

As I wrapped my gifts, I couldn't keep the tears from welling up. Then, I noticed an old plastic bag that was tied up and lying in the bottom of my wrapping paper box. I took it out, untied it, and pulled out a very old newspaper. I read the date on the newspaper and was astounded to find that it was the day my son was born exactly 26 years ago. "What the?... How?"

Then I had a faint memory of my father bringing it with him on his first visit to meet his new grandson. Apparently, I had stored it high on a shelf and forgot I had it all these years. But there it was: My father's hand reaching out over the years, to give his beloved grandson a gift on his 26th birthday.

Serendipitous, don't you think?

Laura Snyder is a nationally syndicated columnist, author & speaker. You can reach Laura at lsnyder@lauraonlife.com Or visit her website www.lauraonlife.com for more info.