The twinkle in his eyes. That’s what I’ll remember. The expression that enveloped his face just as he was about to tell me something funny or interesting or gossipy. Mark and Pablo, sitting on the porch steps, beers in hand, like a couple of mischievous schoolboys plotting the next adventure or recounting, with pride, the last one. His ponderings about the fate of the Tighty Whitey Man. His enduring admiration of my septuagenarian mom’s snow shoveling ability. And I just loved, loved, loved when he would address my mom as “dude”. Yeah, it’s the twinkle in his eyes....