Jimmie Anderson was my neighbor in the little trailer park nestled within a marina on the St. Marks river. I heard somewhere that he came to town with a carnival man named Bill Helson.

I remember his jean shorts and the stitches in his nose and how he never looked the same after.

He shucked oysters and gave me a Greek fisherman’s hat when I was in the 5th grade. I still wear it sometimes.

I took this photo when I was home from college. When he died a few years ago, people in the town said how much they loved him and they held a small gathering in front of the general store. They also said he was a little different and that we all knew his lifestyle.

I’m thinking about home and how deadly shame is. I wonder if there really is salvation in pride.