Yesterday, I helped my Dad unload his worldly possessions into a new house. He is a preacher and as part of the occupational compensation, a home came along with the church. He was at his first church for ten years and the second for 15. This was not standard at the time. Preachers in his denomination rarely stayed in one place for more than six years. He has had three more churches and three more moves since then, each time accumulating additional junk (sorry, I mean treasures). Now, he is retiring and is buying his first house at age 70. It is much smaller and required some serious downsizing. Despite the limitations, I can testify that he still has a lot of stuff. I got sentimental thinking about his move yesterday. I came home and dug out this old photograph that was taken on the day he helped me move into my first apartment. I am not sure what was going on with my hat situation.