Editor’s note: Originally published in Florida Today, Melbourne, Fla.
Melbourne, Fla. – It was a sound that shall never go away. The sloshing noise of the washing machine was like a siren going off to my 11-year-old ears. Disaster was imminent.
My jeans were in the washer, dirt caked on each knee, as usual. And precious – no, priceless baseball cards were in the right rear pocket. One of the more monumental trades in the history of the neighborhood was about to become a soggy wad of sloop.  . . .