Child's play.

I'm very glad that I took a picture of this creature because when my parents came to visit, my dad picked it up and rearranged the bricks. He thought it was just a random structure.

Which was rather typical.

I've also noticed, in the last couple of months, one peculiarity that I'd never before realized he had: He can't stand it when food is messed around with or spilled. With a toddler around who is trying to feed himself it's hard for him. And I don't mean full-on spinach on floor, in hair and everywhere - a couple of crumbs on the table make him nervous. I knew that he can't let food go to waste - he will finish his plate in the restaurant down to the last lettuce leaf garnish even if the portions are much too big. I suspect it comes from being born in 1940 and growing up during times of hunger. (I'll never forget how my grandmother told me that my mother as a small child asked her for food, anything, one small potato would do, even if it was green and she didn't have anything to give to her.)
But I didn't know about my father and messy eating. It explains why I had to wear a yellow plastic bib monstrosity, which in family jargon went by the name of "rain gutter", until I was four of five.