About 30 years ago my Grandpa Fry built me a wooden truck. Somehow I’ve managed to hold onto it through moves, remodels and some rough livin’. Henry discovered it in a cabinet the other day and insisted on adding it to his auto collection, which has lots of trucks already. But I bet none of them will be around in 2040. Hopefully Grandpa Fry’s truck will, though. If watching my son play with the truck my grandfather built wasn’t enough, I opened the lid (it was news to Henry that the lid had a hinge) and found an envelope addressed to me as a kid, written in Grandpa Fry’s handwriting. What a find. I think I’m going to have a cry.