I’ve always known my dad was pretty capable – he’s handy with a saw and a plank of wood, a screwdriver and a plug, a spreadsheet and a word document… he also has advice on how to handle pretty much any practical disaster.

But he can be a man of few words, so conversation tends to only go so far, and I’ve got to admit going shopping with my mum was always a little more tempting than hanging out doing DIY with my dad so that did tend to limit the amount of time we hung out together. After all, what would we talk about?

But suddenly all that’s been turned on its head! And not just because we have one endlessly fascinating, constantly evolving topic to discuss: no, not Netflix, but my three-year-old son - his grandson.

How did our relationship change so dramatically? As anyone with a young child knows, the moment someone in your family offers to do a chunk of childcare, you don't turn it down. But what about when it’s your dad who offers – not your mum or sister, your 75-year-old quiet, laid-back dad?

Well, both grandmas regularly look after our son – so in the spirit of equality and all that I jumped at the offer.

I then panicked. What on earth would a three-year-old and a 75-year-old do with a whole day together? How would my dad cope with a manic ball of energy who could talk and run the hind legs off a donkey? How would he deal with the brash and crash of a day with a Duracell bunny that doesn’t ever stop?

I dropped my son off, reassured that at the very least the size of ‘Grandad’s amazingly big brilliant garden’ would be a refreshing change to our small London patch of shrubs. My son would probably trample on the flowerbeds and perhaps get dumped in front of the TV for the rest of the day, I mused. Oh well, it could be worse.

But when I returned at 5.30pm, wonders of wonders, the two were happy and wholly absorbed, chatting, yes chatting, over spaghetti Bolognese, happy, calm, considered – and there’d been no tantrums or cross words; no wild careering up and down the lawn; no TV?!

How on earth? They’d spent hours outside moving sand from one side of the sandpit to the other. Cars were brought out, discussed, displayed, moved into position and rescued from certain cliff death by clever cranes and pick-up trucks. Bridges were built. Roadways were created and towing hooks clipped on (clever bulldog clips). There was much discussion over who would rescue what and how. The same manoeuvres were repeated over and over again, as both observed the rotation of the wheels, the angle of lift, the level of force required to tug the truck out… And presumably various other aspects of engineering.

The side of my dad that I had never been able to fully enjoy and appreciate was on full display here: he had wholeheartedly entered into a type of playtime that he valued and understood – and my son was in his thrall.

When I’m at home, I try to parent and multi-task at one and the same time, sorting, tidying and ticking off admin while trying to fool the apple of my eye that I am actually playing with him. When my husband gets in from work, playtime is generally boisterous and involves a lot of wrestling and shouting.

With Grandad on the other hand, incredibly, playtime was quiet and – incredibly, knowing my dad as I do –conversational. I suddenly felt that I was looking at two peas in a pod.

The moment a child is born I think we all start to spot and allocate traits – I had recognised the engineering talents of my son, and obviously spotted my dad’s genes there. But what I hadn’t then foreseen was the meeting of minds that this would lead to, and the type of play and relationship that they then might have, even at this early age.

Preschool and preschool chat can convince you that the be all and end all is ‘making’ your child learn as fast as possible, and that excellent language skills, along with the ability to run and jump, are all that really matter.

But slowing the pace and being interested and quietly present matters enormously too – and I feel this all the more keenly when I see how manic our lives all are, running from pillar to post and back again. Perhaps demonstrating patience, and understanding the value of silences and all those other more introverted skills that are too often undervalued are important too.

My dad is now on a regular rota for childcare – and I could not feel happier about that. He is introducing my son to a way of being that I see is enormously valuable. And that comes naturally to both of them. Hats off to Granddad!

Katie Blackburn is a pen-name. She is a mum of one, handbag hoarder and an aficionado of children's literature. In her day job, she is better known as Faber children's publisher Leah Thaxton. Leah began writing at an early age to entertain her little sister, but rediscovered the writing bug while trying to get her son off to sleep night after night. Leah has published various books as Katie, including Where the Wild Mums Are (illustrated by Sholto Walker), Scoot with Jim Smith, and Dozy Bear and the Secret of Sleep with Richard Smythe. She enjoys toddler management, reading and swimming. Her latest book, Where the Wild Dads Went, is available now on Amazon.