When I lived in Hoboken, New Jersey, there was a slang term people used that always stuck with me:“Neighborhood cookie.”

At the time, I didn’t fully understand it. Over the years, I came to see it as someone who stands out quietly. Someone known. Someone with presence. Not flashy. Not loud. Just… unmistakably there.

Years later, I realized I had met one.

His name was Frank.
To me, he eventually became Pop Pop as this is what his family called him.

First Impressions

I met Frank while helping his daughter and son-in-law, Troy, look for a home. On paper, it was a normal real estate process—selling a house, exploring the next chapter, joking about a mother-in-law suite that everyone knew might really be Frank’s main suite.

When I first met him, Frank wore dark sunglasses, a gold chain, a gold bracelet, a sharp watch, and a mustache that meant business. He had the look of a man who analyzed everything—especially me, the realtor who might uproot his home, his man cave, and his independence.

He was guarded.
Sharp.
Observant.

And quietly funny—though I didn’t know that yet.

The Three Little Bears Phase

The house hunt went on and on.

It felt like Goldilocks:

• This one was too small.
• That one wasn’t right.
• This one had too much of this.
• That one had too little of that.

One house was so questionable we joked it might show up on Dateline years later.

Frank questioned everything—and rightfully so. He had lived long enough to earn the right to be particular.

Cracks in the Cookie

Then something shifted.

Over a Mexican dinner—somewhere between tacos and conversation—Frank started letting me in.

Maybe it was the talk of cars.
Maybe it was watches.
Or maybe it was when I mentioned I worked in a pawn shop at fifteen.

That’s when I knew we were getting somewhere.

At first, his humor came in dry, nearly invisible doses. If you weren’t paying attention, you’d miss it. Then came stories. Then trust.

Before long, Frank wasn’t just Frank anymore.

He was Pop Pop.

A Bond You Don’t Plan For

An unexpected bond formed—built on conversations, laughter, wisdom, and time. And by the grace of God, the three little bears (and a couple of cubs, Mason and Logan) found their home.

Months later, I got the call to sell Pop Pop’s house. It was an honor—and a challenge.

Frank had one main concern:

“Where are my cars going to go?”

I had a small warehouse and offered to store them for a short while.

That “short while” turned into just shy of eight years.

The Cars and the Trust

Frank stored his Corvette and Cadillac there, swapping them in and out as he pleased. He stopped by. Checked on things. Hung around.

Sometimes I thought, I really need the space.
Sometimes I considered renting or selling it.

But I never did.

I didn’t want to kick him out.

That’s what trust looks like in real life. Once someone becomes part of your rhythm, you make room.

The Call You Never Want

This week, I got the call that Pop Pop had passed.

My heart sank.

The only thing I could say to Troy was:

“Thank you for sharing him with me.”

Frank was a man’s man—strong, direct, loyal. Once you earned his trust, you had it.

Full Circle

I lost my blood grandfather at a young age. I called him Pop Pop too.

His real name?

Frank.

Funny how life works.

What This Has to Do With Dreams and Life

PropelYourDream.com is about vision and journey—but at its core, it’s about people.

It’s about trust built slowly.
About relationships that start as transactions and quietly become something more.
About the give and take that shapes a life well lived.

I met Frank because of real estate.
I kept Frank in my life because of respect.

No deal, spreadsheet, or closing statement can measure what that kind of relationship adds to your life.

I am richer for knowing Frank.
And more joyful because of his perfectly timed, dry humor.

One Last Frank Line

His last text to me says it best:

“Hey Phillip, this is Frank. I’ve put the money in the sun visor of the Lyric. I’m kidding. You don’t have a Lyric Lexus so that should catch us up. Will be good till next year. I appreciate your working with me. Take care and I hope you have a great Christmas and a good new year—make some money honey. Ciao for now.”

That was Frank.

Sharp. Playful. Grateful.

A Faithful Finish

What matters most—and what Frank would want known—is that he knew his Lord and Savior, Jesus Christ.

Today, I believe Pop Pop is home. Whole. At peace. Reunited with his wife, whose grave he visited every single day after she passed in 2016.

• The picture below is of my kids when they were young. Of course, Parker was already trying to look cool—channeling Mr. Frank sitting in his Cadillac with dark sunglasses. Ella, on the other hand, loved the fuzzy dice that hung from the rear view mirror.