In our town was an old evangelist who wore a cowboy hat and stood outside the schools, handing out New Testaments with bright-orange faux-leather covers. One day my brother Danny took a copy and read the whole thing. We didn’t know for weeks that he’d done it, just that he was having nightmares, and finally our father sent him to a counselor. “Jesus Christ,” Dad said, after the counselor spelled it out. “I just thought he missed his mom.”
