A cherished item can be seen, even touched. It has no life of its own. Alan Johnson, after searching through boxes in his cluttered attic, found such an item. In itself, it wasn’t anything special. It was old and tattered. No one craved it. No fortune could be obtained through it. But, to him, it was priceless. Why? It contained memories. And consequently, as he held it, as he stared at it–he began to remember. It was the summer of 1975–when life forever changed. He was thirteen, living in the beautiful coastal city of Wilmington, North Carolina. His days were filled with playing baseball, hanging out with his best friend, and, like many other thirteen-year old boys, falling in love for the very first time. In most ways, life was normal–but normal doesn’t always last
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