Papaw would pick me up from preschool-kindergarten every day in his old Toyota truck, Trusty Rusty. He’d give me a stick of Trident Gum -the kind that still lines our kitchen drawers today- and take me back to his and Nana’s house. Once there, we’d watch TV, eat snacks, or read from the giant shelf of children’s books that he collected for my mom and I. But what stands out most to me is when he’d sit me at the top of the stairs to the basement and he’d pop my toes. I’d try and squeal and squirm away, yelling “No, Papaw! No!!” because I’d always forget it didn’t hurt, and he‘d laugh as he pulled my toes one by one. I miss that sweet laugh.