Frank never drank. He'd come to our home for a fancier sit-down meal and would even wear a tie. My dad would raise a toast. Frank, ever dramatic, would stand and wave his glass at my father's glass, all while holding down his tie which had begun to flutter he had to reach so far across the table. Frank would say, "Prost!" and sit back down, setting his glass on the table and not drink his wine.
As I was young, much younger than Frank or my sister, I once knighted Frank at that very table. He kneeled before me and I tapped each of his shoulders and then his head with a butterknife. "Arise, Sir Frank."