 Frank's voice dropped to bits. When the weather was bad, he'd drive me to school. He had this old truck that he used in his fishing business, and that truck was older than he was. It would wheeze and rattle down the road, and you could hear it coming from locks. And as he'd drive toward the school, I would shrink down into the seat, hoping to disappear. Half the time, he'd slam to a stop, and the old truck would belch a cloud of smoke. He'd pull right up front, and it seemed like everybody would be standing around and watching. Then he'd lean over and give me a big kiss on the cheek and tell me to be a good boy.