Snow outside the toasty warm house I only recognize around Thanksgiving, my Aunt’s office is filled with past times, old memories. She takes a framed photo off the wall of many and begins to tell me a story of her son. John sits on a picnic table in front of forests holding an old, red Coca-Cola can almost as large as his face. He wore overalls, only the kind we wear when we’re still too young to pick out our own clothes. The look on his face captured the essence of innocence, he looked at the camera, not posing, nor upset that his mother was taking the photo. He just looked, he looked as if nothing in the world affected him. I love that photo, I love those memories in my Aunt’s office in Nevada.