When my little brother and I were youngin's, Daddy had a cedar box he brought home from the Smokies as a souvenir. He always called it his treasure box and we imagined it was filled with family trophies and riches handed down through the generations. We would beg to see into it and occasionally Daddy would pull out a sampling of treasures. They were amazing.
About 15 years ago, just before Christmas, Daddy sat on the floor down in Tennessee where he and Mama had retired, got out his… Continue