Uncle Frank, at least that is what I call him, has taken care of me since I was three. Actually, Frank Dillon (AKA Uncle Frank) was a friend of my dad. No actual relation to me. He had agreed to take care of me if something happened to my mom and dad.
“One of these days, when you get older, “ Uncle Frank broke the silence, “I have some things, of your parents, they wanted me to give to you.”
We talked for a while and then went to bed.
Years past and I graduated with high honors from the private school I had always gone to. It was known for its sports teams but it was also well known for its academic rigor, from kindergarten through twelfth grade. Uncle Frank knew that and he insisted on sending me to Franklin Academy. A number of my classmates and I received full, education scholarships to the colleges of our choice. In fact, 95% of graduates eventually land jobs that pay six figures. Open communication was the standard policy. We were allowed to talk about anything at school. Anything except religion, that is. Especially when the discussion was about Christ, Christians, or Christianity. Just the mere mention of Christians or Christianity would get you in trouble and, most of the time, expelled.