He held it at arm’s length, then fished a pair of glasses out of his shirt pocket and looked again, and his weathered face changed.

“I remember these three boys,” he said, and he tapped the glass right over my sons’ faces with absolute certainty.

My heart came up into my throat.

“You — you’re sure?

It was six years ago.”

“Oh, it’s hard to forget those three,” the old man chuckled, warm and a little rueful.

“They stood right here at this counter and argued for ten solid minutes about whistle colors.

Ten minutes.