When I was 5, I distinctly remember a trip to Tampa with my mother, grandmother, and great aunt in the 1970 Pontiac LeMans. Somewhere along the way on I-75, we ran out of gas. I freaked out. Screaming, kicking, crying. I thought we were going to die. Then a stranger carried my mother away in his truck to get gas. My poor Grandmother Esther and Great-Aunt Eleanor...these poor ladies were both high strung and nervous anyway. I'm sure they were in agony, charged with the supervision of The Banshee-Child Who Sees The Future of Mommy-less Death. Mommy returned with fuel and we finished our journey to see my half-sister JoAnna and visit Busch Gardens.