Don’t Be Afraid to Ask

When I was sixteen I attended summer camp in the mountains near my Los Angeles home. I’ll admit that camping has never been my thing – I’m outdoorsy in theory only.

But it was at that camp I met Gail, my first real girl friend.  She lived on Manning Avenue across town. That meant I had the opportunity to drive my mom’s old Pontiac forty-five minutes each way to pick Gail up for a date.  It’s strange to recall this now, more than sixty years later, because I don’t like to drive any more than n...