I remember when I was little... my dad used to work for his biological father. We've never been very close to that grandpa, and my brother and I only saw him about twice a year.
My father hated working for that company. They worked him off his feet, and every day he would come home and complain to my mother about working at the salt mines.
When I saw my grandpa the next Christmas, I was almost four. He sat me on his knee, as grandfathers do, and began to ask me questions. Getting all fired up, he asked me where my daddy worked.
To which I proudly replied:
"At the salt mines."