They can have my ball when they pry it from my cold, dead fingers.

Well, what have we here. I’m going through the cabinets to do some necessary sorting, and came across this little guy. Literally taken a lifetime ago, clinging to the object that was his very first word. “Ball.”

Check that dude out, all pimped out in his pistol hat. I’ve always had a thing for hats. What you can’t see on the vest are the embroidered letters A, B, and C, which in one way or another led to a pretty slamming version of the Alphabet Song in 1972.