Book remembers his childhood with a fineness, such as he finds in the thin pages of his ever-present Bible. It is tinged with a clarity that helps him define his world, and a surety only matched in his faith.
His mother wore white on Sundays, a sweeping dress that flowed around her ankles. He would get caught up in the skirt, hiding himself in the folds and pretending he was surrounded by clouds. His mother's hand would draw him out, and he would look into her open, smiling face and know he was cherished.
In his life, he has been needed, necessary, useful, appreciated, loved, and respected. He has never felt cherished since he was a young boy at his mother's side.
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