There are certain things we just never forget. When I was a very young boy, my brother Mike and I were playing with a garden hose that had been coiled aside my grandfather’s – my Pépère Giguere’s – house on Hope St. in Woonsocket. He saw us playing with the water and yelled at us. I was, well, startled and terrified. I remember it vividly. He wore a plaid shirt and suspenders. It’s my earliest memory. I don’t know why my brain registered that moment as important-to-remember, but it did. I only......