It is autumn, 1977, and I am two months shy of my sixteenth birthday. I had taken a driver’s education class that past summer, but according to Mom, that course only taught me enough to pass the written test. The only way to learn how to actually drive was to practice, in all kinds of conditions. In Chicago, from September to May, the weather is like a temperamental toddler…

When I was growing up, the emotions I witnessed in my father were mostly negative – disappointment was typical, so was frustration and anger, mixed in with heaping doses of weariness…Listining to the sounds of Wes Montgomery’s guitar or Miles Davis’ trumpet reminds me of the good things about my childhood.