As an evangelists kid, I wasn’t burdened by material wealth nor the want of it. But the few things that I did have were treasures. One of the treasures I had was a travel brochure about Disney World and I loved it because inside it had a map of the park and I meticulously studied the layout. The combination of their facts and my vivid imagination made this simple brochure worth more than gold to me. It’s amazing what we attach value to. Sitting in Grandma Bert’s house one evening, a terrific thunderstorm rolled in with all of the subtlety of a sledge hammer. The wind tore at the house and all two stories creaked and croaked under the strain. My Dad loved storms, at least I thought so, because when there was a storm dad would stand out on the porch with his coffee and take it all in, lightning, thunder, hail, and a chorus of wild wind. I guess it was better than tv because it was interactive entertainment at it’s best. Much to the chagrin of mom I would join him and this night I had in hand my brochure. I stepped onto the porch and saddled up next to Dad and just as I did, a gust of wind sucked the magazine out of my hand and into the black air. Before I knew it, my dad did something totally unexpected. He ran out into the yard and disappeared within the sheets of rain. Mom yelled at me to get in and in terror I curled up on the antique claw-foot couch next to her. I thought he’d be right back but he didn’t come and I shivered with each strike of lightning. My uncle Joe got worried and putting on his coat announced his intention to head out and find dad. More time passed and the wind grew louder. Finally, the door broke open and dad and uncle Joe stumbled in, tired, cold, and soaked to the skin. Dad leaned against mom who had stood up to hug him for being so wonderful and scold him for being so crazy. When he wrapped his arm around her I couldn’t believe my eyes for clutched in his fist was my brochure. It was soaked and ruined but I didn’t care. I don’t remember what happened to it. For all I know, we simply threw it in the garbage that night at Grandma’s house. But I cried hard and held tightly to Dad. Not over the magazine, but over the sacrifice that he made. There’s a huge difference between cost and value. Never cry over anything that can’t cry over you.