If you’ve been here a while, you already know G.

This is the same kid who once decorated a gingerbread man with cheese sauce and tortilla chips and stood back like a misunderstood artist waiting for his work to be appreciated. The same kid who has always lived in that delicate space between future CEO and person who could absolutely run a highly organized underground operation if he felt like it.

I’ve always believed it’ll be the CEO thing.
But honestly.
It could go either way.

So when he taught me something about entrepreneurship today, I should not have been surprised. Yet here we are.

We had a snow day. A real one. The kind Waterdown doesn’t get often. Snow started piling up late last night, the wind had a lot to say, and by morning the world was quiet and buried and mildly intimidating.

Most of the house responded appropriately. Video games. Blankets. Snacks being consumed like we were preparing for hibernation. You know the drill. (I’m also in the market for more granola bars, so you’ll know where to find me once the roads clear up.)

G, however, had already moved past “snow day” and straight into “opportunity.”

This was not a last-minute idea. This was planned. Schemed. As the snow fell, while the rest of us slept, he was clearly running numbers in his head.

By morning he was fully dressed, boots on, gloves ready, casually announcing that he and his buddies were heading out to shovel driveways.

His price?
Twenty dollars per driveway.

I laughed. Because I am an adult with opinions. Because I assumed this was optimistic at best.

G did not laugh.

He not-so-calmly (and only in a way that G generally speaks) explained that it was a lot of snow, people didn’t want to shovel, and this was fair. End of pitch. No follow-up questions accepted.

And off they went. Door to door. Snow up to their knees. Confidence unshaken.

They had also built in operational breaks, stopping for snacks along the way to stay “hydrated,” which I assume cut slightly into profits but did wonders for morale. A true leader thinks of his team. Doughnuts and bottles of sugary sodas to “properly fuel.”

When he came home, soaked and cold and proud, he gave me a full breakdown. How many driveways. Who tipped extra. Which houses hesitated and which ones didn’t blink. Data collected. Lessons learned.

This is the same child who, as a toddler, once stole a tin of cookies, poured himself a glass of milk, and set up in front of the TV at 3 a.m. like a man unwinding after a long shift. The same kid who once took a nap at centre field during soccer practice because his body simply demanded rest.

The grit has always been there. The confidence. The complete absence of fear when it comes to trying something and seeing what happens.

We’ve been calling it #LifeWithGreyson for years, and it still applies. The chaos just looks more intentional now.

Entrepreneurship doesn’t always look like a startup or a business plan. Sometimes it looks like a 12-year-old with a shovel, a snowstorm, and the audacity to charge more than you’d expect. Sometimes it looks suspiciously similar to the same creative energy that once led to cheese sauce on gingerbread.

Different medium. Same brain.

I don’t know exactly where G will end up someday, but I do know this: the traits that once made parenting him exhausting are the same ones that will take him far. Boldness. Curiosity. A refusal to wait around for someone else to decide what’s possible.

CEO.
Or underground kingpin with excellent organizational skills.

Either way, he’s going places.

And apparently charging twenty dollars to get there.