And he never tried to embarrass me about it.
The Last Time I Saw Him Alive
The last time I saw him was my college graduation.
It should have been a happy day.
The campus lawn was filled with proud parents wearing suits and dresses, holding flowers and cameras.
Frank arrived alone.
He wore his best clothes—clean jeans and a button-up shirt that tried, unsuccessfully, to hide the faded tattoos on his forearms.
His gray beard was neatly trimmed.
He looked nervous, standing among all those polished, wealthy families.
After the ceremony, he walked toward me with a huge smile.
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