The tradition never varied. Each birthday, Grandpa would press a green plastic army man into my palm with that same knowing smile. “For your collection,” he’d say, as if that explained everything. By college, I had a small battalion lined up on my dresser – identical except for the years they represented. Friends joked about my strange inheritance, but I sensed there was more to these cheap toys than nostalgia.
After Grandpa’s funeral, I nearly packed them away until my sister discovered the tiny markings – numbers that formed GPS coordinates, plus two crucial letters: N and E. Following this trail led me to a property I never knew existed – a puzzle house my grandfather had secretly built over decades, filled with mechanical brain teasers, family secrets, and heartfelt messages meant just for me.
Inside, I found the answer to why a brilliant man would give his grandson the same humble gift year after year. Those soldiers weren’t just presents – they were the first pieces of his final, magnificent puzzle, designed to teach me that the greatest treasures in life aren’t things, but the journeys we take to find them.
