Your wallets have taken vivid residence in my imagination. The red ones, the patterned, those made wholly of duct tape. One belonging to your father, to your friend’s father, to your son, to a younger you. To a very young you.
Few remember their mother’s wallet. Makes you think. Perhaps our children will remember ours. However they get filled, via salary, supporting a spouse, or inheritance, they are likely opened most often for our kids. I almost imagine an old-fashioned alphabet book, applesauce, buckled shoes, college, degree.
I really can’t thank you all enough for participating. I’ll give the Blake Satchel away next week. First I will consult my cobbler, to see what he says about repairs, and then I’ll post it with full disclosure.
Always as true as I can make it, gladdened by your stories.